


holiday in handcuffs

by lyssy



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Campy, Eggnog, Enemies to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M, dual perspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-02-15 10:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13029336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyssy/pseuds/lyssy
Summary: Lance, a struggling waiter at a diner, can never seem to catch a break. His art career isn't looking too hot, his job stinks, his future looks like a black hole. And now he has no date to bring home to the family's Christmas dinner!In an attempt to fool his parents, he takes the holidays—and the law—into his own hands by bringing a very adamant date, a complete stranger named Keith, who's basically hostage to appease Lance's zany family.Little does Lance know, two can play at this game. And Keith's got a few tricks up his sleeve.





	1. i'm not crazy

_I'm not crazy. I'm a long way from crazy._

All he did was kidnap a guy and bring him home as his fake beau.

_And doing one crazy thing does not make a person crazy. Though I have to admit, this isn't how I expected to be spending my Christmas..._

It wasn't too hard to find him. Keith, draped in his dark winter coat, stuck out like a sore thumb walking on the side of an otherwise snow-covered road.

_And I'm pretty sure it's not how Keith Kogane planned on spending his._

Lance let his dusty blue beater of a car coast slowly beside him. Keith kept his scowl trained straight ahead as he even shivered from the light snowfall, fists tucked into his pits. Poor, stubborn guy. He should have just asked if he was planning to run away. Lance probably would have refused anyway, but still, he should have asked. It would've at least spared him the extra stress of looking for him in the middle of the night.

Lance stretched across the passenger seat of his car, cranking the latch of the window and rolling it down. He settled back into his seat, eyeing Keith. "So, you've been walking for what, about an hour?" he lifted his brows, glancing behind the steering wheel. "And you've gone exactly 1.8 miles. The nearest gas station is 20 miles away. You do the math."

Keith barely glanced at him. He tucked his hands inside his coat pockets, and Lance heard him draw a sharp sniffle from the biting air.

Lance winced, commiserative. "Look, why don't you come back to the house, we'll make some hot chocolate, okay?"

After not only four steps further, Keith stopped, and Lance pushed the brakes. A kittenish smile pulled at his lips as Keith opened the door and climbed into the passenger side begrudgingly.

"Are you okay?" Lance asked, waiting as Keith defrosted with a perpetual grimace. "Nothing smart to say?"

Keith sniffed hard again before biting out. "You - are -" his gaze cut at Lance. "- the devil."

Lance frowned to himself, wincing hard and twisting the radio's knob.

_"Just hear those sleigh bells jingle-ing, ring-ting tingle-ing, too..."_

Well, there were worse things to be called. And since he committed a felony offense, then he definitely could not say it was unexpected to hear. Regardless, he took that as a no on the hot cocoa and pushed on the gearstick. He drove them back where they came from, a pit in his stomach.

 

***

 

_18 hours earlier, December 23 rd_

 

The day started out like any other. And in Lance's case, that wasn't particularly the best thing. In a couple hours, he'd have to be packed and ready for his family's annual Christmas getaway at the lodge, and it would be a nightmare if things did not go as planned. Lance, being the unlucky duck he was, fretted as soon as he woke.

Everything as of recently had been nothing but a snowball effect downhill, and the only good constant in his life was his job at the Holt's Diner, and his much needed downtime in painting all winter break.

After a shower, he'd gone fast for the hair rollers. And though, yes, his natural waves were a perk-point to his look, it was the holidays, and his mother might even nag if he left it looking even slightly deflated. He only wished he'd inherited her natural curls. After applying a strongly scented curling enhancer, he grabbed a chicken-shaped kitchen timer on the sill of his sink, twisted its neck, and set it back down. He threw a shower cap over his head to let it set and meandered to the kitchen in a frantic haste for breakfast. As he opened the fridge, breakfast looked to be last night's leftovers.

His phone vibrated on the counter behind him while he stuffed his face with cold noodles. He picked up quickly, spilling a number of wet noodles on his shirt in the process.

"Oh, crap!"

"Lance, that word is so tacky," his mom said on the receiving end.

"Hi, mom," Lance set down his sorry excuse for breakfast. He paced back to the bathroom for a towel.

"Hi, honey. We're just getting organized over here at the cabin. You never know with a rental," a clanking noise sounded on her end. "So, do you have the directions and everything?"

"I do," Lance nodded and swept a hand towel off its hook, patting the residue of the spill on his shirt. Brilliant.

"Good," his mom said, and then paused before proceeding, a smirk in her voice. "Is Matt still coming with you?"

Lance stopped patting his shirt and looked up at himself in the mirror.

_Crap. Matt. Oh, crap, Matt._

They'd been planning this for weeks, though, hadn't they? Lance specifically made arrangements for his friend to join him for the family holiday. A stand-in, just to pretend to be a date of sorts. Everyone else turned him down over the fact that they had their own Christmas dinners to attend. The prospect made him snort a little, but Matt wasn't at all reluctant on account of the fact that he didn't celebrate Christmas, nor have he and Lance ever considered each other romantically. It may as well have been the equivalent of taking his cousin to prom, if he lacked that much self-respect.

Lance patted at his shirt slowly. "Of course he is," he said. He abandoned the towel haphazardly on the sink, ignoring the muffled _pring_ of a certain chicken on his way back to the kitchen.

"Oh, good! Dinner's at six - sharp," she punctuated the latter with a little bite.

"I know, mom," Lance picked up his oyster pail of noodles from the counter, right where he'd left them.

"Aw, we are so excited to meet him, honey," his mom crooned.

 _I'll bet,_ Lance thought dejectedly. If only he could bring a real date. If only that was an option, if only he didn't have to pretend he had his life together!

"Look, I still have to get ready," Lance peered into his closet, combing through more outfits. "I have work today and—"

"Oh, oh, oh!" his mom interjected. "Wear your Christmas sweater. The pink one that I bought you! You know, the style of it's really cute, and it brings out the blue of your eyes..."

"Mom, I'm already dressed!" Lance lied.

"Lance, I am just trying to make you look good! Would I tell you to wear it if I thought it'd make you look bad? Pink is a perfect color..." His mom clamored on.

Lance held the receiver away from his face and eyed the cluster of pink outfits he'd received from his mother, every tacky gift gone to collect lint. At least they were picked out of love. Stifling motherly love.

"Okay, okay, okay," he succumbed, and his mom seized her yammering.

"Yay! Drive safe, okay?"

Lance sighed, nodding. "Bye, mom."

"Oh, and be sure to do something with your hair."

Lance's mouth fell. "Oh," he stammered, touching a hand to the damp shower cap on his head, which he obviously should have removed. "OH, MY GOD!"

"Lance?" His mom asked.

And he ditched his phone on the counter and did a mad dash to the bathroom. "No, no, this can't be happening!" Lance gawked at his reflection in the mirror and screamed.

 

***

 

That's right. The day started out like any other. Except it was Christmas. And Lance had the world's worst perm. And with the constant pressure lately to finish school, get a real job, and land a steady relationship? One can imagine it'd taken its toll.

_But aren't we all just a hair away from crazy, anyway? I think the difference between sanity and insanity...often comes down to timing._

With all the qualms in the world, Lance snugged a beanie over his head to conceal his disaster of a hairdo. He gave a stray curl a gentle tug, sighing in defeat when it sprang back to retain its tight ringlet.

_Poor, poor timing._

A gust of winter wind nearly battered Lance's hat off as he made entry of the Holt's Diner. The place was swarming with customers: families, teenagers, and the like. In the back of the restaurant, Lance lifted a suspendible counter to get behind the wraparound bar.

"Oh, you're here," Pidge entered from the kitchen, tea tray in hand. Her brow wrinkled as she caught the obvious tension written on Lance's face. "What happened?"

"Little crisis with momma bear," Lance sighed, shrugging his coat off as Pidge went to attend to other patrons.

A gasp drew from behind him. A customer, Allura, held a hand to her mouth, poorly veiling a smile.

Lance looked down at his humiliatingly pink Christmas sweater, frowning at her in return. "My mom bought it for me." 

She'd been quite the regular for a while now, enough to be on a first-name basis with the staff. Especially Lance, considering his crush on her had been up in the air, until she'd made it pointed that she was seeing some VP in retail by the name of Takashi. Even she turned down his holiday dinner ruse. At least she cared enough not to openly giggle at his misgivings.

"I didn't know those came in Pepto-Bismal," Pidge remarked, setting her empty tray on the bar. She tiptoed to a shelf full of antiques, one amongst them being the tackiest toy flintlock. Sam took great pride in his antiques.

There were all sorts of knick-knacks hanging around the diner, but the vintage touch is what tied it all together, it's what gave it flavor.

Off the shelf, Pidge swiped a headband of reindeer antlers, identical to the ones on her head. "Put this on," she extended it to Lance. "Dad's really into Christmas this year."

Lance squinted. "But you're Jewish."

Pidge shrugged, and Lance exchanged a wary glance between her and Allura.

"Try not to cower," he whispered, pulling his beanie off and letting his short, horrid curls spring free.

They drew tight gasps in unison, and Lance swiped his reindeer antlers from Pidge, setting them on his head with a frown. "I left my product in too long."

"Yeah," was all Pidge said, blinking owlishly.

Allura stayed mum.

Lance sighed and tied his apron on. He spread his arms out, turning to Allura. "How do I look?"

Allura smiled commiseratively. "Sweetie..."

"Is it bad? Is it that bad?"

"No, no," Pidge held a tight smile. "Ah, think, if Cindy Lou Who had a Cuban son—"

"Oh!" Lance smacked the flat of his palm to his forehead, whimpering and glancing down the inside of the kitchen. "Where's your brother?"

If anything had to go right, it'd be going home to his parents. He had to make a good impression on the adults of the family. And, yes, maybe he still was the baby, but it was a garbage feeling returning to every family gathering penniless and dateless. Every chance he got to see them felt like a blow to his pride. And no matter how much they smothered him with affection, there was always some nagging question he found behind their tight smiles. _"Where's your date?" - "What are you gonna do after college?" - "Got your life together yet?"_

"I think he's in the back," Pidge nodded in his direction. "Why?"

"Mom wanted this Christmas to be special," Lance said. "So my family rented a cabin out north. We're all gonna be trapped together, like," he lifted his eyes heavenward. "The Shining."

"Oh."

"Did Matt not tell you? We've been planning this for weeks. He's supposed to be coming up with me. He's sort of my date. Date stand-in. Fake date?"

Pidge looked a little dumbfounded. "This is the first I'm hearing of this."

"Well," Lance lifted a shoulder and bustled to grab a pitcher from the kitchen window. "He's my one chance of survival."

"You're using my brother to get your family off your back?"

"Yes! I mean, no," Lance gave a little grin. "He's my only option now, okay?"

Even if it sounded wrong, it was Lance's only option. He had nothing to offer his parents. They had faith in him, but not enough. He'd understood that alone, whenever he had gushed in the past about how well his art was selling, and they'd switch the topic to him seeking any real jobs. It wounded him greatly when they smoldered his dreams out.

Lance paced back to where Allura sat at the bar, and she served him a quizzical look.

"I didn't think Matt was your type," she poked at what was left of her eggs.

"He's not," Lance said. He shot Pidge a look. "He's really not. He's just my last resort."

And he needed a word with his last resort immediately, if they were to leave by two o'clock. He was desperate for a word with Matt, but the guy was nowhere to be seen. Through the entirety of the afternoon, he'd shot Pidge desperate glances from across the restaurant, to which she kept shrugging in response on the whereabouts of her brother.

Quietly, Lance swore an oath as he glanced at the time and glided past the lacquered tables toward the front. He delivered a sundae to one boy, furrowing his brow at the clock as if he could will it go faster.

"I said I wanted hot fudge, you chowderhead," the portly little boy said.

Lance scoffed, swiping the sundae back. "Nice. Real nice."

As he walked back to the bar, he caught Matt entering the kitchen and nearly broke into a sprint. "Matt!" Lance exclaimed, setting aside his tray and beaming. "Thank god, you're here!"

"Yeah," Matt nodded, flinching when he gauged Lance's entire look. "Jeez, what the heck happened to you?"

"Believe it or not, I was trying not to attract attention to myself," Lance said. "What are you doing? Why aren't you ready?"

"What?" Matt blinked, and then his mouth rounded. "Oh!"

Lance, as if stricken, glowered. "OH?"

"About that," Matt made his fingers into little guns, waving them with a sheepish grin. "I can't...really go."

Everything in the restaurant narrowed to a point. Lance felt as though the air had been punched out of him.

"What do you mean, you can't go?" Lance asked, the hiss of his voice bordering a yelp.

"I mean, I have to work," Matt said, shrugging in feeble defense. "It's bad enough Hunk has to cover your shifts, but my dad needs me here, he—are you crying?"

"No!" Lance wiped his eyes with the palm of his hands. He grabbed the sundae he'd brought back and doused it with fudge syrup as if it conveyed his indignation.

"Look, dude, it's the holidays. It gets crazy packed," Matt looked as though he had nothing better to offer than a shrug. "I'm sorry. I can't go."

If Lance hadn't thought so already, he knew now the big man in the sky had it out for him. Every great deity had to be laughing at his misfortune.

"You, you can't bail on me now, Matt!" Lance felt as though he might faint, a startling burn of nausea climbing up his stomach.

"If I could get out of work, I would..." Matt's voice went distant then, and Lance held a hand to his head.

His parents were going to be so disappointed. The idea of returning into their arms alone was beyond humiliating. Everything about his life felt like a quota to be met. He did not know what he was going to do with his future, he'd hardly even allowed himself the liberty of going out anymore, and now he couldn't even bring his pretend date to dinner. What would his parents say, if he returned home empty-handed? He'd rather choke than admit himself as a human disaster, the family's black sheep. He wished, in that moment, that he could just disappear.

"I gotta get back to work," Matt said, snapping Lance out of his thoughts. He gave his shoulder a pat of finality before turning back to the kitchen. "Sorry, man."

What a sincere apology. He might as well stick on a pair of cleats and stomp on Lance's heart while he was at it, too.

"Oh, my god," Lance did a hysterical laugh to himself, drawing the eyes of a few patrons as his wretched headache really kicked up its heels in earnest. "Oh, my god. Oh, my god!" He must have looked as messy as he felt.

The diner's doorbell chimed in apprise of a new visitor. A handsome young man, roughly Lance's age weaved through the array of tables in the diner.

"Yeah, I just got here," he said and, if Lance had been in the right state of mind, he might even ogle at the neat suit he wore under his brown coat. "I got my notes, too. I want you to help me look 'em over. Yes, I'm prepared, Shiro. Alright, bye."

As the world tilted on its axis, Lance made a dazed trek to deliver the sundae back to the angry kid from earlier, ignoring his remark on timing. He did a lazy walk to the two-seater the new customer sat himself at, pulling a notepad and pen from the pocket of his apron.

"What can I get for you?" Lance asked absently, clicking his pen.

The customer glanced over his menu. "Uh, I'll take a cheeseburger with fries," he looked up at Lance. "And a caesar salad. Dressing on the side."

How could Matt up and ditch him like this? Genuinely, he might have expected less of a promise from a real date, but his friend? What about that one time Lance shared his pudding cup with him in high school? Were promises not sacred anymore?

The customer glanced from Lance to his menu, furrowing thick brows. "Do you...need to write this down?"

Lance blinked and looked down at his customer. _Your mullet is tacky,_ he thought. His eyes were pretty, though. He was lucky in looks, too.

"No," Lance said and tore the empty sheet of paper off his notepad before turning heel.

He hardly felt the customer's concerned gaze following him all the way back to the bar. In the kitchen window, Lance slapped down the empty order, slumping against the counter with a vacant look in his eyes.

He felt woozy with nausea. It wasn't fair. He had to stand here having an internal crisis and everyone else in the world bustled about their own business without a care. Going home for the holidays for them wasn't stressful, and it certainly didn't involve any strategic, stress-inducing planning. His head swam at the imagery of walking inside the family cabin with a Shirley Temple-do, a gaudy shirt, and no date. As if he hadn't felt pathetic enough.

_I'm going to hurl. And I'm going to pass out. And I'm going to pass out hurling._

"Are you okay?" Pidge asked, but her voice sounded faint from where Lance's head was at. She looked down the kitchen. "Have you seen my brother?" And kept walking.

A phone buzzed distantly, bringing him back down to earth. His heart felt like it was going to fall out of his butt. Lance walked briskly to the coatrack, fishing his phone out of his jacket's pocket. "Hello?"

"Lance? ..You haven't left yet, have you?"

"I'm sorry, mom," Lance lowered his voice, backing into the rack of coats. He wished he could evaporate.

"Honey, we specifically agreed to six o'clock. It's a long drive, I know, but the least you could do is be a little on ti..."

Lance blinked up at the expanse of the restaurant, knitting a brow. His customer, mullet-hair, was getting up. He was taking off his coat and leaving it on his chair. Where was he..?

"Why can't you just do this one thing for me?" his mom asked. "Are you trying to ruin Christmas?" And that stung.

Lance's gaze went lazy as he watched his customer leave the two-seater and, as he retained enough presence of mind, a very brilliant, twisted idea buzzed through him like lightning. "We're leaving now," he blurted into the receiver. His heart thumped violently.

"Matt's with you?"

"Yeah!" Lance chirped, eyeing mullet-hair. "He's wearing a blue blazer, dress shirt, pink tie."

His mom seemed to croon at that. "Was the pink tie your idea?"

"Yep. Yeah. Of course."

"Ooh, well, I'll talk to you when you get here, then."

"Bye," Lance swiped his coat off the rack behind him and stuffed his phone in a pocket.

 

***

 

Keith's life? Was great.

He had everything going for him. All that was ailing him that morning was the presentation he'd be giving at the office. Shiro had stayed up all night with him making notes, telling him he'd do great. And Keith believed it, because his mentor's word was always gold, and he was VP of the company at twenty-eight. Keith was lucky if he could even follow in those footsteps.

Which is why he'd specifically taken his notes to study while he grabbed a bite.

His waiter looked a little out of it as he took his order. Keith opted to stare at the name tag on his apron. _Lance._

Lance was a disheveled mess, staring at the middle-distance, pen barely grazing the notepad in his hand. And that hair, that wild, mousy hair. Keith wondered how many hours this diner kept their employees working as he watched the boy trudge away.

After a minute of scrolling through the notes he'd transferred to his phone, Keith slipped it back into the pocket of his coat, hanging it off his chair before making a beeline to the hall in the back of the restaurant. A quick break before his food got there, that was all.

As he approached the hall, his waiter, Lance, stumbled in front of him.

"Oh," Keith said, blinking. "'Scuse me."

"You're not going to the bathroom," Lance blurted. His eyes were blue, wide and comically round.

"This isn't the way to the bathroom?" Keith asked, because he hadn't seen any other hall.

Lance held fast to the fluffy coat bundled in his arms. "You're coming with me."

"Noo," Keith furrowed his brows patronizingly. "I'm going to the bathroom."

Lance wavered in the hallway, a conflicted pinch in his face. Keith squinted.

"Uh, look, I'm not sure what kind of place you guys are running here, but—"

Lance visibly swallowed, flipped out a toy flintlock, and aimed it at Keith.

"The hell is that?" Keith asked.

"It's a gun!" Lance squeaked, indignant.

"Are you sure?" Keith quirked his head, attempting to look for a _nerf_ symbol on the side of it.

"Of course it is."

Whatever it was, it looked outrageously stupid in Lance's skinny hands. He seemed so offended, Keith swore he saw the bells of his reindeer antlers jingling.

"It was used by the British?" Lance lifted his brows, bristling.

Keith looked him up and down. He lifted his own brows in kind. "You're kidding, right?"

Lance scrunched his nose and grabbed the lapels of Keith's suit. "Mm-nn," he shook his head and pushed Keith in front of him. "Move it!"

"Watch it," was all Keith said on their way out the back.

If it wasn't humiliating for Lance, Keith would definitely call it second-hand embarrassment on his own part. Despite his annoyance with the inconvenience, he staggered after the other's tug on his suit. He'd feed into Lance's delusions, if it swelled the beanpole's ego enough to drop the kidnapping charade. And then, he'd make a break back to the diner, put this whole situation behind him, and get back to reviewing his notes. After marching out to the back parking lot, Keith made the split decision to turn and book it back inside.

And then his feet gave out from under him, flying off an ice puddle.

The last thing he heard after hitting the concrete with a thunk was Lance.

"OH, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!"

  

***

 

The air smelled a little musty when Keith came to again. Musty, as in old car and some obvious pine freshener deterrent. He couldn't see, either, as there was a scarf wrapped around his eyes. His head throbbed treacherously, and he groaned.

"Hi!" a perky voice, Lance.

Keith grunted questionably, turning to acknowledge the voice as his mind reeled. "What?"

"How's your head?" Lance asked, and if Keith hadn't been mistaken, audibly concerned. "Ah, how 'bout I take the blindfold off now? How'd that be?"

Fingers hooked gently into the scarf around his eyes, tugging down. Blinking, Keith assessed the snowy terrains outside the windshield, and then shot a confused glare at his driver.

Lance flashed him a little smile. "Hey."

Hey. Casual. As if he hadn't just been at the diner.

"Whoa," was all Keith said. He looked up again, where his hands were bound by their wrists with dark leggings. He twisted them with a growl, fruitless in his effort to free them from where they stayed locked between the top of the car door. 

This wasn't a charade. This was for real. Lance, he looked his way again, was for real. He actually took him, and after he'd clumsily slipped on a patch of ice, too. They weren't in the city anymore, either. All outside the car was the stretch of the highway. Snow-drenched evergreens sat in the distance, shadowed by colossal blue mountains. Keith's heart did a wild thump. He must have been out for hours if they had abandoned the city this much.

"Look," Keith said. "I-I'm not sure what's going on here, or what you want from me, but this plan—" he gave his wrists a tug again, wincing at the pull of the leggings. "—doesn't seem very well thought out."

Lance barely glanced at him, the line of his mouth twitching as he pulled the reindeer antlers from his mousy hair and tossed them to the back, bells tinkling. He said nothing, the nerve of him. Keith hardly put into consideration that Lance almost looked as puzzled as he felt. And instead of fishing for a coherent question as to what going on, he did exactly what he'd always known—word vomit.

"I mean, let's face it," Keith gave him a quick once-over. "You're built like a swizzle-stick, and sooner or later, I _will_ overpower you."

Lance rolled his eyes. "Yeah, good point," he said. And then, he tilted his head Keith's way, amusement lacing his voice. "Unless you knock yourself out first."

Keith's mouth fell open.

"Or," Lance pulled the toy flintlock from earlier. "I shoot you?"

Begging was beyond any of Keith's ethics, but if it was bargaining on whether he could leave or not, he was willing to stoop a little low.

"You seem like a nice guy," Keith mustered a grin. Lance's mouth slanted in a pout. "Probably nothing a little lithium couldn't fix. I mean, come on," he laughed. "You're not really gonna shoot me with that thing."

A little wince wrinkled Lance's face. He looked to Keith again, a delicate shimmer in his eyes. He opened his mouth. "I—"

As his gaze trained off the road, Keith watched ahead as a skunk wriggled across their path, like he owned nature. "WATCH THE—!"

Lance swerved the car around the critter with a yelp, flailing with his flintlock-wielding hand as a blast of charcoal spat between Keith's legs. Keith will not attest to the shrill noise that escaped him. His knees shook with nerves. He looked at Lance again, slack-jawed.

"OH, MY GOD! It's real? Oh," Lance's face pinched apologetically. An innocent smile shaped his lips as he glanced back. "Sorry..."

If Keith made it out of this with his balls intact, that'd be luck. He had to figure out how to get out of this situation. And to think, he'd actually walked himself into it. If it hadn't been for Shiro's insistence lately that he'd needed to change his tune to get used to people (in a workplace, or not), he'd likely guess he wouldn't be in this dilemma. As his waiter's hostage.

While the ordeal did take some time to sink in - a half hour, precisely - he was glad that it wasn't torture. Lance could beat his gums like nobody. A part of Keith was awed by his choice to speak so freely, like they were two buds on a road trip. Lance wasn't intimidating in the slightest, either, especially in that grandma jumper, or with that fluffy hairdo. And if the shock of being kidnapped wasn't enough, his demands, too, were monumentally odd.

"So, this is the deal," Lance said. "You're coming home with me to spend Christmas with my family, as my boyfriend, Matt," he finger-quoted. "Who...unfortunately couldn't be here."

Keith scoffed. "I'm not doing anything like that, looney toons."

"Uh, you don't exactly have a choice, Kevin."

"It's Keith," Keith rolled his eyes. "And..." he looked at Lance again, and then, it dawned on him. "Ohhh."

Lance raised a brow.

"You're boyfriend dumped you," Keith said, and the way Lance's eyes widened only increased his suspicion.

"No, I told you, he couldn't make it!"

Lie.

"Riight."

"I'm not lying," Lance insisted shrilly.

"Uh-huh. And you're not taking his absence out on an innocent bystander."

"I am not! Look, desperate times called for desperate measures, okay? It's not like I'm asking you to do anything weird!

_What, exactly, was Lance's definition of weird?_

"You didn't care to."

Lance sighed. In defeat, Keith could only hope, but he didn't care to pursue the matter any further. They stayed in a choice silence until the car turned into the nearest gas station. To his luck, deserted, too.

Keith gawked up at the sign mounted on the cabin-shaped pit stop. "Yes, gas station," he murmured, fixing it to memory. "Green and white sign, green and white sign."

Lance snugged the scarf over his eyes again, and wasn't that the cutest thing.

"You know there's no way you're gonna pull this off, right?" Keith turned his head Lance's way, daring to laugh. "What're you gonna do, hold a gun on me at Christmas dinner? The second I get to your house and tell your family how demented you are—hey!" Lance's hands patted his blazer, and then inched to his pockets. He felt the weight of the car cushions dip under Lance's weight. "Hey, that's getting personal."

"No phone?" Lance asked.

"It's in my coat," Keith muttered. "At the diner, where I left it - before I was kidnapped!"

The car door opened with a click and promptly shut again.

"..Lance?"

_Of course._

Keith resumed twisting his wrists from the restraint of the leggings, sighing. "Man, what is this stuff made of?"

 

***

 

Lance actually kidnapped somebody. This went against every one of his morals. Did he even have any, at this point? He'd bounded a guy's wrists with his old yoga pants. That spelled enough crazy to him. That'd spell crazy enough to anyone. So much for being the King of Self-Control. Stability was his middle name. He didn't know what to say about himself anymore.

He tossed a glance over his shoulder, eyeing the way he'd left Keith in the car before entering the gas station briskly. The entry bell rang over his head, and the shop clerk, an older woman, lifted her head in apprise.

"Oh, hello!" Lance said, hoping he didn't sound as anxious as he felt. He meandered through the little shop and grabbed some choice items: beef jerky and root beer, and then went to checkout. "Just, uh, ten dollars worth and this."

"Ahuh," the clerk looked him up and down. She raised her brows. "Headed to a party?"

Lance grabbed his items, gritting his teeth in a little grin. "You could say that."

The clerk waved with a quick nod, meandering around the front desk. "Ah, I figured," she said, and Lance's heart stuttered a beat as she walked past him. "You looked in a rush. I usually pump the gas for the customers."

"Really, that's not necessary!" Lance followed hot on her heels, nearly stumbling over his own two feet as she stopped abruptly on the shop porch.

Keith, still in the car, whipped his head around confusedly from the passenger side.

"What's, ah," the clerk glanced at him in worried manner. "Going on here?"

_Quick, Lance, you're digging your own grave here._

"Ah, that's my boyfriend!" Lance blurted, gaze flitting to the clerk as his mind did the most brilliant thing. "I'm surprising him with a weekend in the woods, y'know, the.." he flashed a smile he hoped passed as sheepish. "The wild kinda weekend, the - tie me up, tie me down kind?"

Well, if he hadn't just lied his butt off, he may have done an ace job at humiliating himself in front of a stranger.

The clerk's face pinched carefully. She reached for Lance's arm. "I think you better come with me..."

_Crap! Oh, crap! Abort, abort._

"I-I really don't have time!" Lance waved her off, doing a manic little skip back around the car. He barely spared a glance over his shoulder as she disappeared back into the gas station.

As he filled his tank, he mentally berated himself. What was he thinking? He wasn't a criminal. Well, he wasn't before today, at least. And the panic in his own actions from the diner hadn't subsided in the slightest. He didn't know Keith, who he was, or what he did. This was officially a new low. This was pond scum.

A jingling bell sounded as the gas station clerk came out again. Lance gulped down his anxieties as she marched towards him. She extended a dark box out as she approached and, as Lance's stomach fell, pulled out the most remarkable thing.

"These are on the house, honey," she said, jiggling out furry pink handcuffs.

Lance blinked, mouth agape as he was momentarily unreceptive. He accepted the cuffs tentatively, at a loss of words. "Oh," he squeaked, far too humiliated to meet her gaze. "Thank you."

After the clerk waved him off and retreated to the shop, Lance ditched the gas nozzle on its hook and scuttled back in the car, a grin taking up his face.

"Great news!" he chirped, slamming the door shut behind him. He swept the knit scarf off Keith's eyes, beaming. "This kidnapping just got a little more professional."

"You're kidding," Keith grimaced fast at the fuzzy handcuffs, arms going limp as Lance cuffed his wrists.

Lance crawled over and popped open the passenger door, unraveling the yoga pants from where they'd been pinched. He tossed them to the back before starting the car again.

"And more comfortable, too, right?" Lance asked, raising his brows.

A humorless line of a smile appeared on Keith's lips. "And just slightly more humiliating." He dropped his hands in his lap.

After they left the gas station, a minute of silence rode out between them. Lance might even like trying to engage in conversation, but the shame in his latest stunt did put more of a damper on things, if that were even possible. Nonetheless, he was more than eager to make this ruse as easy as he could, for the sake of both of them.

Lance ripped into the new bag of jerky. "Look, I want to apologize. For earlier, for raising my voice and, um, y'know, shooting near your...manhood."

Keith glanced at him, a tight knit in his brows.

Lance pulled a strip of beef from the bag, extending it to him as a peace offering. "Beef jerky?"

Keith took it between his teeth before remembering his hands. He lifted it like a token, feigning a cloying smile. "Thank you, that's very kind."

_Progress, thy name is Lance._

"Okay!" Lance threw the bag between them. "So! I think we should share some important facts about each other. Aah, lemme guess," he tore a piece in his hand, chewing and pointing at Keith. "Nice suit, so...you're some sort of a financial intern—no, wait—I bet you're higher on the career ladder. I bet your, like, secondhand to the VP of the company, right?"

Keith stayed mute. He popped his piece of jerky in his mouth.

"Okay, that's a yes," Lance nodded and barreled on. "Ummm, your parents bought your first house? College graduate. You're...twenty-one? Yeah?"

Keith glowered at the dashboard. Ha.

"Aaand you were probably involved in some sort of zeta, beta, schmeta, am I right?" Lance bit into his piece again when the silence answered for him. "Okay, so that's a yes, yes, and yes."

Even if Keith wasn't cooperative, there was a feeble part of Lance that surged with confidence in being able to read him as well. Especially after Keith had insinuated that Lance had been dumped. And by Matt, too, who was just a faceless guy according to him and a total flake of a friend to Lance.

"I turned twenty-two in October," Keith said at last, flicking his steely gaze Lance's way.

"Oh, great for you!" Lance flashed a wane smile. He glanced up thoughtfully. "Well, I think it's safe to say I've lost my job at the Holt's Diner, I live in a crappy loft downtown, I'm twenty-one, and... Yeah, that pretty much sums it up!"

At least they were vaguely familiar now. It did nothing to chip away at Lance's guilt, but if it did anything to relieve Keith's worries about his own well-being, then that was alright, too.

The calm only lasted so long.

As Lance pulled into the driveway to the family cabin, his mind raced a mile a minute.

Maybe he should turn back now. Maybe he could drive back towards the city, ditch Keith on the highway, and go to the animal shelter on his way home. He just needed to adopt some cats. A lot of cats. He should have just accepted his fate at the diner, quit, and walked out with a praise-worthy, applaudable nonchalance.

He looked down at himself, cringing at his ghastly pink sweater.

_Man. Already ripped the price tag off this thing._

Maybe next time. Lance pulled the keys from the ignition, yanked his suitcase from the backseat, and exited the car.

"Wait right here," he told Keith.

Keith raised his cuffed hands, deadpanning. "Where else am I gonna g—"

Lance slammed the door and hobbled to the cabin.

He let himself in the foyer with a bated breath, setting his luggage beside him. The entry of the lodge was ornate with Christmas garlands, as expected. His mom always went all out with the decorations. It was her favorite holiday.

_God._

Lance sighed, starting as a familiar squeal filled the room.

"Ohhh, there he iiis!" his mom trilled. She approached him with outstretched arms and embraced him with a swaying hug. "My baby!" His dad followed behind her, grinning.

"Here I am," Lance winced over her shoulder.

His mom laughed, relenting. "Aah, lemme look at you—OH, my god! What did you do to your hair?"

Lance touched his head self-consciously.

His mom grimaced, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "You look like one of those actors from those pornographic movies."

"I have porn star hair?" Lance's face fell. "How do you even know what a porn star looks like, mom?"

His dad made a vague, helpless wave behind his mom. "Okay, okay, enough," he touched his hands to his temples.

"Lemme see your sweater," his mom parted the lapels of his coat, exposing the gaudy thing. "Ay, que chulooo. I told you pink was your color."

Lance gritted his teeth, flushing.

"So," his mom glanced down the foyer, then at Lance. "Where's Matt?"

"Oh, he's in the car!" Lance said and nodded at the door. He looked up briefly, steepling his fingers. "But I wanted to tell you guys, um. You know when we go to a restaurant, and dad tells jokes to the waitresses, and they're stupid and embarrassing, but he thinks it's funny?"

His mom nodded, unabashedly understanding as his dad huffed in offense.

"Well, sometimes, when Matt feels awkward in a social situation, he does this whole," Lance closed his eyes, rolling his hands. "'I didn't wanna be here, I've been kidnapped' thing."

His mom raised a brow.

"Kind of weird, but he thinks it's funny, so just - kinda laugh along, so it doesn't make him feel bad," Lance flashed a wane grin, tilting his head. "'Kay?" He hoped he sounded convincing.

His parents blinked twice in a slow succession. But his mom shrugged, a small laugh leaving her. "Okay," she leaned in, practically beaming. "We're so excited to meet him!"

"Dad," Lance looked pointedly at his father. "Please, try not to embarrass him."

"You don't think your old man's cool?"

"Dad."

"Right. Got it."

Lance managed a smile, glancing between his parents. "Good."

He walked back out the front door briskly, ignoring the bundle of nerves coiling in his belly. If this mission were to go right, he needed a clear head on this. He'd fuss about things before he went to sleep instead, like every other normal person. Even if his situation was far from normal.

  

***

 

Keith rummaged the glove compartments for any valid evidence as to who Lance was. So far, he'd parted through an empty _Taki's_ bag, a punchcard from Bahama Buck's, old receipts.

The car door opened, and Keith jerked back into his seat with a flinch.

Lance waved a little key between his fingers. "Okay," he beamed. "We're on!"

"No," Keith said, slapping the glove compartment shut. "I'm not going."

"Wha— It's nice and warm in the house!" Lance frowned. "You'll freeze to death out here."

A decent point. Even if Keith wanted to stand his ground, he certainly didn't want to do it out here.

"Fine," Keith stuck his hands out, and Lance keyed the lock of his handcuffs. "This charade's about to end _right now._ "

Lance lifted the scarf off his shoulders, and a part of Keith idly wondered why he looked so eager. He flexed his arms out, pumping them as he sprinted hastily in front of Lance and practically barged into the cabin.

The Nutcracker's Ballet was filtering throughout the foyer - warm, was his first thought, and cozy. What a facade.

He jerked his head to the left at the end of the foyer and, to his right, a man and woman made their way towards him with matching smiles.

As Keith turned to meet them halfway, the woman, Lance's mom, he presumed, wrapped him in a tight hug. 

"It is so nice to meet you!" she said as Keith stayed befuddled. He leaned out of the hug with a pinched face. "You're the first boyfriend Lance has ever brought home."

"Mom!" Lance groused behind him.

"Janey, c'mon, he's the first anything he's brought home," the man, Lance's dad, chimed in.

"Thanks, dad," muttered Lance, a palm to his forehead. "Thanks."

Lance's dad swept Keith's hand into a firm shake, grinning. "Javi Herrera."

For a second, all he could do was blink before remembering to formulate words. "Okay, okay," Keith flapped a hand, as if sweeping their introduction aside. "Listen to me very carefully." He pointed a finger at Lance, who was standing beside him now. "He forced me to come here."

Lance wrinkled his nose and pointedly looked at his mom, rolling his eyes.

"This guy held me at gunpoint, kidnapped me, and brought me here as his hostage," Keith finished, quite proud of getting it out there. The room went blessedly quiet.

And then, Lance's mom, Jane, snorted. Giggles barreled out of her promptly afterwards.

Keith's eyes went round. _What the hell._

Chuckling, Javi pointed at Lance. "You weren't kidding."

"We see what you mean," Jane nodded, sniffing lightly.

"Did you not just hear me?" Keith asked. "Your son is a crazy, dangerous criminal!"

"Yes, he is!" Jane laughed, high and tinkling. Javi feigned a "oooh" next to her. She beamed the next second, tilting her head. "Would you like some eggnog?"

Keith flinched.

What the hell happened while he was in the car? Why weren't they taking him seriously? What did - he turned to look beside himself. - _Lance._ He did this. Of course, he did this.

"I have a secret ingredient that makes all the difference," Jane nudged his shoulder on her way past him.

Willing his brain not to melt through his ears, Keith did curt glance about the family. "What's the matter with you people? Are you guys all nuts?"

Lance patted his chest. "Alright, hon, that's enough."

Jane paused at the threshold of the kitchen. "I'll be right back," she waved. "Make yourself comfortable, Matt."

"My name is not Matt!" Keith said, glowering.

Lance looked at Javi, amusedly pointing at him. "Yeah, he does that, too."

"And I will not have a seat!"

"Anyways, I'm gonna go help mom with that eggnog," Lance flashed his innocent grin again, cutting his eyes at Keith on his way out. They glinted tauntingly.

Keith watched him leave, miffed. Whatever Lance did earlier to avoid getting caught red-handed—it worked. And Keith, none the wiser, had walked right into his trap for the second time today. He underestimated this guy big time.

With a scoff, Keith shook his head, lifting his gaze back to Javi.

"Kidnapped," he wheezed, signaling for Keith to follow him to the formal room. "C'mon."

Well, it wasn't like there was anywhere else to go.

 

***

 

Two Christmases ago, his mom introduced the game of key master. Game, she said, not confiscation, or detention.

"No one ever helps me in this house!" she had squawked after dropping one of her ornaments. The tree was her favorite aspect about the holidays. "Everyone's always on their damn phones!" Everyone in the living room grunted halfheartedly, typing away on their phones. After that, mom had devised the most torturous revenge. Key master. Wherein everyone staying at the house for the holidays had to relinquish their phone and, after last year's incident with grammy's great escape for a drink out, car keys.

"Mom, I was thinking that maybe I could be key master this year," Lance said as he entered the kitchen. He grabbed a whisk and passed it to his mom.

"Really? I thought you always hated the idea of being the key master."

"Yeah, I know the idea of being forcibly trapped during the holidays used to bother me, but now I see the, uh," Lance shrugged his coat off, waving a hand. "Higher social purpose."

"Uh-huh," his mom whisked away at the mixture on the island. "You sure you can handle gram? You know how she is. And that's before she dips into her painkiller."

Lance scrunched an eyebrow. "She's, like, seventy-five years old."

"Yes, but she's still freakishly strong."

"I think I can manage."

His mom paused very briefly, assessing him with a look that looked a little impressed. It made his heart swell happily and, just as quickly, deflate under the shame of what was all a lie, too. She marched to the fridge and opened the freezer, pulling out a ziploc bag full of their keys and cellphones.

"I'm trusting you," she jiggled the bag with a little smile and handed it over.

Lance gripped it in both hands tightly, swallowing an apology. She had no reason to. Not after this.

  

***

 

Outside the windowpanes of the cabin, Keith could see snow until it meshed with the horizon. There were evergreens around, all sugared with snow. Acres past them, he guessed, were possibly desolate. If he ran off, the chances of not turning into a popsicle would be very low.

Perfect.

Besides that fact, at least the environment of the cabin was comfortable. An inconvenience, but comfortable. He may have even loved it, had it not been under these circumstances. It was large, expansive, and still held a homely vibe. Likely because of the abundance of Christmas decorations.

Lance's dad, Javi, sat in a club chair by some bookshelves, flipping through a sports mag.

Keith sighed, stepping from the window. "Look, sir, I think if we can clear up this situation, we can forget the whole thing ever happened. I just need to use the phone."

Javi took off his reading glasses. "No phones in the house," he said, apologetic.

"What about a cell phone?"

"Ah, the key master's got all the cell phones," Javi flipped a page. "Apparently, it interferes with all our quality family time." He laughed weakly, like he found the prospect dumb himself. It was.

Just his luck.

Without a thought allowed to develop further, the sound of the front door opening brought Keith's attention back to the direction of the foyer.

"Wow!" a woman's voice said, followed by footsteps. "This place is ginormous."

From the adjoining hall, a young man, woman, and two children took a step down into the formal, swaddled in coats.

"Dad!" the woman crooned, and Javi stood from his spot, outstretching his arms.

"Lori," Javi hugged her briefly, turning to the man next to her. "Oscar." And embraced him as well.

"God, mom really went out this year, didn't she?" Lori asked, eyeing up above. Keith followed her hazel gaze. The ceiling had to be twenty feet high.

"Yeah, well, you know your mom," Javi said. "Always making for the best Christmas."

The two children beside Lori ran past Keith and jumped to the couches. Jane entered the room with a tray full of mugs and—Keith narrowed his eyes—Lance followed in suit of her.

"Oh, hey!" Jane said. "What took you guys so long?"

"You would not believe the traffic on our way out the city," Lori shook her head, signaling to her children on the couch. "Or the pee breaks."

Jane looked to Oscar. "Where's Meli?"

"Ah, she had to stay in town for work. I'm lucky I could take the time off," Oscar shrugged and lifted his chin, a smile splitting across his face. "Is that you Lance?"

Keith watched Lance's smile go shy.

"Whoa-ho, what is up with that hair?" Oscar laughed, tousling a hair over his brother's perm-like curls.

Lance flapped his hands, grimacing. "Stop, stop it!"

"Oscarin," Jane scolded, gesturing her tray of eggnog towards Keith, who'd nearly gone invisible before their familial display. "We have a guest. This is Lance's _boyfriend_ Matt."

Something simmered through Keith again. The harsh branding iron of his reality.

"I'm not his boyfriend!" Keith shouted, glaring at the hand Oscar extended towards him. Lance's pinched his lips together. He gestured towards him very animatedly. "I met him today when he poked a musket in my ribs, tied me up with furry handcuffs, and—" he flailed at the ceiling. "—drove me to wherever the hell I am right now!"

"Furry handcuffs," Lance parroted, lips tilting into a smile. "Now I'm embarrassed."

Jane broke into another giggling fit. Oscar and Lori exchanged uncertain smiles, as if there were a joke they had yet to be let in on.

"Oh, it's a thing with him," Jane said, her husband chuckling beside her and sipping at his mug of eggnog.

Keith had had enough of this. He walked past Lance and pulled Oscar aside as the family delved into more mindless conversation. "Oscar, right? You look like a reasonable person."

Oscar blinked slowly.

"Listen to me, man. You may think your brother is normal," Keith wanted to scoff, catching Lance's gaze flitting their way suspiciously as he continued. "But he's not. Believe me. He is a nutcase."

Even if he was being harsh on his words, it was the most he could do to get himself out of this funny farm.

Keith flinched as Oscar gave the side of his arm a smack, grinning. "Tell me about it! Ha!" Oscar snorted and turned from Keith. "Alright, I want eggnog!"

_What the—no. No!_

Keith stared blankly at the middle-distance, unblinking until Lance grabbed his attention.

"Come on, Matt," Lance sang-song from where he stood, mug in hand. His eyes hooded, gleaming with an unspoken _I win._ "Merry Christmas. C'mon~."

Ba humbug.

The way the evening dwindled by was at the very least one thing to be thankful about. As the family familiarized themselves with each other, Keith had luckily been able to sit by and only pay a few cents into the conversation. When he found himself in the spotlight of anyone's curiosity, Lance fumbled out words for him, glancing nervously his way and upholding a little smile. And after Oscar's reaction, Keith valiantly suppressed the urge to waste his breath and correct the family again. Discussing it was futile, and at this point, sticking his head in the snow sounded far more sensible.

When the night came, Jane led him and Lance upstairs. She gestured inside the first room, a single bed. "Okay, Matt, you'll be in here."

And was he ready for the night to end. Keith marched fast for the room. A pull on his elbow jerked him backwards.

Lance wrinkled his nose. "Mom, c'mon," he gave Keith's arms a little tug. "I'm twenty-one years old, I'm gonna sleep in the same room as my boyfriend, okay? End of story!"

Jane blinked, touching a hand to her chest as if dumbfounded. "Oh," she said, small. "Okay."

Shortly after, she directed them to a kiddie room with a bunk bed. At least Keith knew where Lori's children wouldn't be staying. He stole the top bunk.

"Yeah, you better get used to these bunk beds," he said after Lance rolled into the bottom bunk, clad in the silliest threadbare flannel pajamas. "'Cause that's what you're gonna be sharing with your new jail buddies - Mad Dog and Rozz."

Lance gave a quiet sigh. "Why don't you try and relax?"

"Oh, believe me, Lance, I will relax," Keith threw his blazer over the post of his bunk, smirking to himself. "And what's keeping going is the look I'm gonna get to see on your face as they haul you off to the slammer."

"You know, you might as well settle down," underneath him, he heard the mattress of Lance's bunk squeak. "You see, as the key master, I'm have control of all the car keys and cellphones, which I've hidden quite well, if I do say so myself."

A good point there, too. They were basically in the middle of nowhere, and before Keith was able to parse what that would mean, Lance broke the silence with a little yawn.

"So! You might as well try and get a good night's sleep. We got a couple long days ahead of us, _schnookums._ "

What a way to add insult to injury. Cheesy pet names must have been in Lance's stock of all things Keith adamantly wasn't for.

Keith rolled on his side and closed his eyes.

  

***

 

In the dead of night, Lance woke up to the sound of the bed creaking. He blinked at the bleary pool of moonlight streaming through the window, squinting at the silhouette of Keith climbing down with an attempted furtiveness. He could give him kudos for that one. The effort was decent, but for a boy who'd grown up with older siblings—ones who'd liked to slip his hand in bowls of warm water, or put dollops of whipped cream in his palms—it'd been easy becoming a light sleeper.

He gave it a good ten minutes before shuffling out of bed, throwing on a coat and beanie, and marching out to his car.

Maybe he should have been more deliberate in explaining his plans for Keith during the holiday. The right thing he could have done was explain their scenario as an acting gig. An unpaid one, but a gig nonetheless.

Or, maybe, he shouldn't have kidnapped a guy in the first place. As much as he tried not to, picking at his wrongdoings was the better half of Lance saying, this isn't you. It was wrong, but he'd done it. He'd done something completely out of left field, completely uncharacteristic, and completely psychotic. And the best thing to do now was to keep running with it for the rest of the holiday, for as long as he could.

It wasn't too hard to find him. Keith, draped in his dark winter coat, stuck out like a sore thumb walking on the side of an otherwise snow-covered road. Lance let his dusty blue beater of a car coast slowly beside him.

"So, you've been walking for what, about an hour? And you've gone exactly 1.8 miles. The nearest gas station is 20 miles away. You do the math."

Keith barely glanced at him. He tucked his hands inside his coat pockets, and Lance heard him draw a sharp sniffle from the biting air.

Lance winced, commiserative. "Look, why don't you come back to the house, we'll make some hot chocolate, okay?"

After not only four steps further, Keith stopped, and Lance pushed the brakes. A kittenish smile pulled at his lips as Keith opened the door and climbed into the passenger side begrudgingly.

"Are you okay?" Lance asked, waiting as Keith defrosted with a perpetual grimace. "Nothing smart to say?"

Keith sniffed hard again before biting out. "You - are -" his gaze cut at Lance. "- the devil."

The drive back to the house was quiet aside from the low hum of Sleigh Bells filtering through the radio. When they pulled to park back in the driveway, Lance turned to Keith, fixing on the slash of a frown on his face.

"No hot chocolate for you, then?" Lance asked.

Keith scoffed and exited the car.

_"Our cheeks are nice and rosy, and comfy cozy are we..."_

Lance killed the ignition and followed in suit of him. He was right as he had thought earlier.

He didn't know Keith. And Keith didn't know him. The best thing he could do was buckle down to relax.

And remind himself that he wasn't crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, look, it's me! back again with another movie au! i promise to pump out original content after this, i swear.
> 
> (sucks in air through teeth)  
> now i know what you might be thinking. but no. no, this is not going to be some sort of weird stockholm syndrome thing. egh. i'm not trying to write it that way at all. (think beauty & the beast?) to be honest, i'm really nervous about the kind of reception this fic'll receive, bc it may depend on whether i decide to finish it or not. ; ;
> 
> so leave a comment below! tell me what you think! and i hope you're having a wonderful holiday.
> 
> come chat with me on twitter! [@peachgrdn](https://mobile.twitter.com/peachgrdn)  / tumblr : [peachgrdn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/peachgrdn)


	2. 'twas the night

The next morning, Lance's phone vibrated in his back pocket on his way to the kitchen. When he stole a look at the lock screen, Pidge's name blinked back.

_ Crap. _

With a furtive glance around, he snatched his green parka off the coatrack in the foyer and hobbled out the front door.

"Hello?"

"Hey, what happened?" Pidge asked on the receiving end. For a second, Lance drew a blank.

"Huh?"

"You looked kind of out of it yesterday at the diner, and when I turned around again, you were gone. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine!" Lance said, nearly immediately. He bit the end of his thumb.

How could he even begin to explain himself? If anyone would swear themselves to secrecy, it would definitely be Pidge. He shared a closer bond with her and Hunk over anyone else in his family. They knew everything about each other.

"Fine?" Pidge asked.

"Well, uh," Lance sighed up at the heavens, shifting his feet in the snow. "Not exactly fine. I—I think I had a little bit of a nervous breakdown."

A pause followed before he heard Pidge laugh a little. "I didn't know those came in sizes."

"Yeah! And I...I did something kind of crazy." He broke down and told Pidge about everything he had done at the diner yesterday—about holding her dad's dusty flintlock on Keith (which, in his defense, he'd thought was a toy until it nearly blew Keith's crotch off), about his slip in the parking lot, the furry handcuffs, and the lie he'd told his parents. That Keith was Matt. Her brother, Matt.

Lance waved at the air. "It's not that big of a deal!"

"Not that of big a deal?" Pidge's voice went tight. He could practically see her touching her temples. "You have to let him go  _right now_. "

"I—"

"What are you gonna do after Christmas? You can't keep him. He's not a puppy."

"I know," Lance sighed. "I-I haven't thought that far ahead, but...I'll figure it out."

 

***

 

Keith was lucky he didn't catch a cold from what he'd pulled last night. And all because Lance threw extra quilts over his bunk, too. Even if the situation wasn't ideal, he felt it a nuisance that Lance was compelled to show him a little compassion. It made disliking him difficult. But only a little.

As he made his way to the kitchen, he caught a glimpse of him outside. Lance. He was on the phone, too, speaking very animatedly to whoever was on the receiving end.

With every intent to go and bust him, Keith made a beeline for the foyer, staggering back when Jane emerged from the adjoining hall.

"There you are!" she smiled. "Good morning."

Keith blinked. "Good morning."

"C'mon, I just made breakfast," Jane ushered him away from the foyer and towards the kitchen.

Fine, fine. He'd play along, if it meant being able to steal Lance's phone soon. He'd also be lying if he said he'd prefer refusing the smell of the delicious breakfast wafting from the kitchen.

After seating himself at the kitchen island, Jane passed him a plate of pancakes and eggs. "Hope you're hungry," she poured a glass of orange juice. "Hash browns?"

"No, thank you," Keith said.

The sudden need to be polite was a little disconcerting, too. Even if Lance's family was oblivious as ever, he couldn't help that taking advantage of their kindness was a little rude. And why should he feel that way? He was the one who was dragged here in the first place!

He inched back in his seat, glaring out the window to see Lance pocket his cell and run out of sight. His gaze lifted when he heard the front door open. A moment later, Lance strode into the kitchen and went straight for the coffee that'd been brewing.

"You didn't sleep in those clothes, did you?" Jane asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. She slid him a glass of juice.

Keith sighed, letting his fork fall on the plate with a clink. "I keep trying to tell you—"

Lance popped by the island. "Oh, y'know what? In all the chaos, we completely forgot his luggage at the diner."

Keith squinted at him, and then, an idea formulated. "That's right!" he said, and Lance furrowed a brow dubiously. "I should really call about that, Lance. Can I borrow your phone?"

Lance shrugged. "Sorry, sweetie, I didn't bring my phone."

"Yes, you did. It's in your—" Keith signaled to his back pocket, mustering an innocent smile.

Jane looked at her son as if scandalized, setting a hand on her hip. "Lancey," she gestured at the phone he unpocketed guiltily. "You were supposed to put that away."

"Right," Lance played coy. "Guess I forgot."

Jane turned to Keith promptly. "Don't worry. Javi always keeps some extra clothes he thinks he'll be able to fit into if he loses ten pounds." She gave a quiet laugh, patting Lance's shoulder on the way out.

Keith held a taut grin until she disappeared into the hall. As soon as she left, he took a stand from his seat, waited a hot second, and put on his best war face for Lance.

"Gimme the phone."

"Come and get it," Lance snorted.

"Give it!" Keith stuck a hand out, and Lance recoiled from across the island.

"No!" Lance held it fast to his chest.

They stayed facing each other, like a pair in a western standoff. If a tumbleweed were to pass, neither would bother batting an eye.

Keith faked right from his side of the island, and Lance mimicked left, a taunting look in his eyes.When Keith faked left, Lance went right that time.

_ Brat! _

"That's it!" Keith bolted about the island, and Lance ran from him around the small perimeter.

"You know, I ran track in high school!" Lance jeered.

"Oh, yeah? I played football, and my nickname was Flash!"

"Ooooh, scary!"

They skidded to a halt, back to where they had started. Opposite ends. And just as they were about to go at it again, Lance's gaze fell away from Keith. A catty smile tilted his lips.

"You know," Lance inched to the left. "I was also really good at home ec."

"Really?" Keith followed his movements. "That's useful."

"Oh, it is! Because I was really good at making one dish."

"And what's that?"

Lance mouth curled into a sneer. "Beef tenderloin."

And Keith's eyes skirted to the tin bucket of utensils between them. One amongst them was a meat mallet. Lance swiped for it as soon as he'd laid eyes on it. His expression bordered wicked.

_"Extra tender."_

"Don't do it!" Keith said. "Don't do it!"

Lance threw his phone on the counter and gave it a good whack, rendering it shattered and useless. Keith gasped, a silence befalling them before he looked up again.

"Are you insane?"

"Might be!" Lance fluffed his hair, opening a drawer and sweeping the remains of his phone into it. "I'm due for an upgrade anyway." He huffed a small breath.

Jane walked in just after, an oblivious smile on her face as she extended a bundle of clothes to Keith. "Here you go, Matt."

Keith took them with a poorly feigned smile. "Thanks." He glared back at Lance.

That little devil looked so proud of himself.

And to make matters worse, the clothes Jane had so generously offered were even worse than Lance's perm and sweater combined. He stared at himself in a full-body mirror, glowering at his reflection, decked in the ugliest plaid pants and fire-engine red polo shirt. Javi would have had to lose twenty pounds at the very least to fit into this. It clung like a second skin in a very unappealing way.

Keith sighed, wincing. "This sucks..."

As he emerged into the kitchen to join the family at breakfast, everyone turned heads from their spots at the table. Lori stifled a snort behind the pancake in her mouth. Her kids, less kind, squealed into giggling fits.

"Nice look," Lance called, popping scrambled eggs between his teeth.

"Yeah, plaid power!" Oscar did a fist pump.

Keith looked down at himself with a scowl.

"Shit," Jane cursed from where she stood by the cabinets, and the clinking of utensils filled the absence of laughter. She turned to her family. "I forgot the extra virgin olive oil. How could that have happened?"

Javi blinked, catching her accusatory glare.

A lightbulb winked to life in Keith's head.

"I'd be happy to go to the store for you," Keith said, raising a hand.

Jane assessed him with raised brows.

"No!" Lance said. He scooted out of his chair. "No, mom, let me go," he raced to Keith's side, touching his shoulder. "I mean, it'd be so rude to send a guest."

Jane looked back to Keith. "It is a long drive."

"No, really," Keith cupped his hands together. "It'd be my pleasure."

"Oh, well, thank you, Matt," Jane smiled as if he were a saving grace. She signaled to her husband. "Javi'll drive. You can go with him."

"Mom!" Lance shoved past Keith.

"Let him, honey," Jane said, leaning in. "You know, it's a perfect time for them to have some quality time together."

"Mom—!"

"Lance," Jane fixed him with a stern look, and Keith made every effort not to grin at the scolding. "You go get the keys. Right now."

Lance deflated with a sigh, turning to Keith with a pout on his face.  _ Good. _

"C'mon, Matt," Javi called, standing. "I'll drive."

 

***

 

After Keith had left with his dad, Lance's stomach fell in knots. That's it. It was over, after this. His family would find out, they'd think him a nutcase, and he'd be shipped off to a looney bin. Or worse.

That throw-up feeling came back again in full force. In the meantime of their absence, Lori helped make a mix in the kitchen to get his hair back to normal.

"This should undo the damage," Lori lathered a generous amount of product into his hair. "I don't know what you were thinking. Who perms their hair anymore?"

"I was going for something subtle," Lance said, willing himself to ignore his worries.

"Well, it spells desperate," Lori leaned over his shoulder, whispering. "People can tell when you're trying too hard."

Lance winced, raising a handheld mirror up. To his relief, the curls were already flattening back to their natural look. He sighed.

"So, anyways, how'd you hook up with Matt?" Lori asked suddenly, and Lance's mom, who'd been cleaning the dishes, looked their way.

"I just, um, gave him no choice," Lance flashed a grin, blinking rapidly. "But to love me, I mean!"

"He is something," his mom nodded. "He's well-spoken, he's successful, he's handsome. I think your father's taken a liking to him. I'm sure they're bonding."

Lance frowned to himself. He could guarantee they were most likely not.

 

***

 

Unlike Lance, Javi was a much more soft-spoken man. It made their trip a lot easier. Quieter, too. It gave Keith time to think about what he'd say when they got to the convenience store.

He needed a phone. He'd call Shiro, and he'd tell him everything that happened. By now, he figured Shiro would at least be more worried than angry with him for missing his big presentation. His idiocy must have jeopardized everything for their company, for Shiro's job, for  _ his _ job.

As soon as they parked at the gas dispenser, Keith sprang out of the passenger side of the car and sprinted up the porch steps of the gas station. The first thing he saw upon entry was a woman behind the counter, flipping through a magazine.

"Lady, you have to help me!" Keith said, hastening up to the counter. "I've been kidnapped."

The woman set her magazine down. "Lemme guess," she raised a brow. "By a cute boy in a pink sweater?"

"Yes! You remember!"

"Hard to forget," the woman laughed, glancing to the side as Javi entered the convenience store. "And he...tied you up and blindfolded you?"

"Yes, yes!" Keith nodded vigorously, verging on a grin. "That's right!"

Suddenly, the woman sank back into her chair as if understanding. "And you're having one of those...tie-me-down weekends? That's why he needed the handcuffs."

"Huh?" Keith felt himself flush. "No, we—"

"Did you need some extra, uh, accommodations?"

"That's not—"

"We carry condoms in the back," the woman supplied, and Keith swore his face must have rivaled the color of his shirt then.

This was getting him absolutely nowhere. The plague of Lance had spread here, too, apparently. And somehow, the story had gotten even more embarrassing. He'd bested everyone.

Javi came up to the counter, setting the bottle of olive oil and some snacks before them. "That'll be it," he said, and the woman bagged his items promptly.

He likely wasn't going to get any help here, either. Keith turned in defeat, marching back to the car. No way in hell would he try broaching whatever that clerk was insinuating about him and Lance. He might even pass out at the imagery of him in that stupid pink jumper, with those stupid pink cuffs, bent over and—no. No, no, no.

His objective had failed entirely. That much was obvious.

On the drive back, Javi was humming along to the Christmas station playing quietly. Keith stared at the steering wheel intently.

Now or never.

And reached for the wheel in Javi's grasp with a yell, fighting to steer until the man hooked an arm around his neck and drew him back.

"Calm down, son!" Javi said, strained as the car jerked left and right on the icy road.

Keith let go of the wheel in favor of prying the arm off his neck, rasping. "I gotta get outta heeere!"

"Oh, I know," Javi nodded, ridiculously paternal. "Relationships can seem suffocating sometimes."

_ That is NOT what this is! _

"But - y'know, it'll pass," Javi relented Keith from his headlock, nonchalantly returning both hands to the wheel.

Keith sat back in his seat, gasping for air.

"Don't you worry," Javi nodded at him with a genial smile. "This'll stay between us."

 

***

 

When they returned to the lodge, Keith went straight for the formal, where the rest of the family was gathered. Lori's kids were engaged in an intense game of  _ Hungry Hungry Hippos, _ Lance was seated on the couch, playing with the zipper of his jacket. An elder woman Keith hadn't seen yesterday was seated next to him.

Lance's gaze shot up as he and Javi entered the room. "Hey! Hi! How'd it go?" He jumped to his feet promptly, and Keith gave him a quick once-over. His bad perm was gone. His brown hair was a pixie cut, a little on the long side where his bangs curled, wet and drippy by his cheeks.

Keith flashed a smile he hoped conveyed his sarcasm. "Everything's fine," he said, walking to the couch, popping a squat and—his pants ripped at the ass, an audible tearing noise. Keith rose and looked over at himself with a scowl.

"Oh. Calvin Klein," the elder woman on the couch, Lance's grandma, said.

Lori's kids stopped their clamoring game, cupping their faces and bursting into giggles.

"Grammy!" Lance chastised, and his grandma stuck out a hand.

"Linda McClain," she said, and Keith gave her hand a small shake.

"Nice to meet you," Keith said, though it seemed hollow.

Everyone in the room made their mouths right as not to smile.

"Hey, dude," Oscar stood from a chair, signaling to Keith. "I got some clothes you can borrow."

"Whatever," Keith shook his head with a sigh. "Thanks, man."

The one thing he could be thankful for was getting out of the ridiculous outfit. After being led to Oscar's room, he waited on the guy as he carded through clothes in his suitcase. He turned to Keith, extending out a bundle of clothes along with some winter shoes, too.

As Keith accepted it with a "thanks", his eyes caught the flash of an electronic on the dresser beside him.

"You have a phone?" Keith asked in astonishment.

"Oh, yeah," Oscar said. "Try to keep it to yourself, though, y'know? You know how mom is about having them during the holidays."

"Right, uh... Can I borrow it, for a minute?"

"Sure."

And Keith smirked. It was a Christmas miracle!

He took the phone and nearly bolted to the downstairs bathroom, locking himself in promptly afterwards. He set aside the clothes he'd borrowed on the sink before dialing Shiro's number.

"Come on, come on," Keith paced in the small area as the dial tone droned, wistful for the voice of his friend.

"Hello?"

"Shiro!"

"Keith?"

Keith let out a small laugh. "You have no idea—"

"What the hell happened yesterday?" Shiro asked.

Keith bit his lip.

"You weren't at the presentation, I tried calling you yesterday," Shiro's voice was full of scold.

"I know, but—"

"I had to push our presentation back. Iverson was not happy. Not that he ever is, but—"

"Shiro, listen to me!"

And the call went quiet. "Okay," Shiro said. "I'm listening."

Keith sucked in a breath. "I've been kidnapped."

Shiro made a disgruntled noise. "Huh?"

The door handle to the bathroom jostled, making Keith flinch. He covered the receiver of the phone. "I'll be out in a minute!"

"Hurry up in there, sunshine!" Lance's grandma called smartly.

"Who was that?" Shiro asked.

"I was kidnapped by a waiter at the diner!" Keith hissed into the phone.

"What? What's he look like?"

"He's about 5'9, and he's got crazy hair and crazy eyes!" Had, technically. But Keith's words were coming like rapid fire.

"You're serious?"

"Yes! I'm a couple hours north outside the city. It's a log cabin," he looked up, scaling the height of the walls.

The doorknob jostled again.

"Gimme a sec, Linda," Keith sighed exasperatedly.

"Who's Linda?" Shiro asked.

A knock.

_"K eith!"_  Lance.

 

***

 

Keith had been gone a while. And while Lance sat on the couch, he had time to think there dilemma over. The morning had moved by so fast, he'd hardly had the chance to talk to Keith—to really talk to him, to apologize. To beg him to try to understand.

What a perfectly hideous holiday Lance had constructed for the both of them. Definitely not the way to celebrate the Lord's birthday.

So, putting his thoughts into action, he got up and made his way to their room. He caught Oscar in the hall on his way out the formal.

"Hey," Lance said. He pinched a brow. "Have you seen, uh, Matt?"

"Yeah, he's on the phone," Oscar said, and Lance nearly leapt out of his skin.

"Phone? What phone?"

Oscar glanced to the side. "My phone?"

"Ugh!" Lance marched past his brother. His pulse accelerated. He wished he could only kick aside his nausea.

What was he expecting, really? That Keith would just forgive him for making him sit through the family holiday? Not to mention, he'd ripped his pants, too, in front of everyone.

By the stairs, Lance spotted his grandma waiting outside the bathroom door. He took a breath, approaching her and pointing. "Is my boyfriend in there?"

"He's been primping in there for hours," his grandma rolled her eyes.

Lance forced a smile. "I'll take it from here."

His grandma shook her head solemnly, waddling away. As soon as she turned a corner, Lance rapped his knuckles on the door.

"Gimme a sec, Linda."

"Keith!"

From behind the door, Lance heard him mutter a curse. All that sounded after was a bunch of inaudible mumbling. When he raised a fist to knock again, the door jerked open.

Keith held a phone in his hand, and Lance snatched it immediately, holding it to himself as Keith strode past him.

"All yours," he said, voice full of smirk.

Lance's feet carried him after Keith quickly. "Did you talk with someone on the phone?"

"Nope," Keith popped the single 'p' in the word.

"I don't believe you. You talked to someone!"

Keith halted sharply, Lance nearly bumping into him. "Okay, fine," he turned to him. "I did talk to someone. And it's only a matter of time now before I'm broken out of here."

Lance's face fell. There was that swooping tide of hurt again. Had he any right to feel so disappointed? It had been the inevitable, after all.

"Tell you what," Keith started, and Lance lifted his gaze. "Until that time, I've decided, I'm gonna help you."

Lance tilted his head.

"I'm gonna be the best boyfriend ever, and your parents are gonna fall in love with me." There was something wicked in the curve of Keith's mouth.

"Why would you do that?" Lance asked, uncertain whether he wanted an answer or not.

"Because it's gonna be even more satisfying for  _me_ when your family finds out the truth about  _you_ _._ " Keith was looking at him in a way he couldn't name.

Lance had a terrible feeling that he, himself, was in for a wild ride. It was a gut feeling. The tables were about to turn.

And so they did.

When it came time to decorate the tree, Keith hadn't wasted a second in wrapping Lance's parents around his finger.

"So, Matt, what line of work are you in?" Lance's dad asked.

"Oh, I work in retail," Keith hefted a box of ornaments from Lance's mom's hands like a good Samaritan. "I work for a company called Galra & Partners."

"Galra & Partners," his dad shot a look Lance's way before turning to Keith. "That's a great company! My firm did some legal work for you on the Balmeran Complex."

"That's right," Keith wore the most genuine smile. Lance nearly dropped his box of ornaments from where he'd been gawking by the tree. "We're actually negotiating a partnership with Altea Industries."

His dad looked more than impressed. Lance pinched down the urge to smile when Keith raised a brow in his direction, his smirk a blatant,  _ Told you so. _

"You know, I always tried convincing Lance to try going into business, like his brother, Oscar," his dad said, gesturing Lance's way.

_ Oh, brother. _

Lance bit down a retort. Being compared to his far more successful siblings was nothing new to him. If there was anything he had feared more than being outed by Keith, it was rehashing what his family had thought about his career path. He'd only hoped bringing a date home would have been enough to squash down whatever voice urged his parents to pick at every choice he made.

He could nearly feel his dad's eyeroll. "But, he decided to go ahead and get his degree in liberal arts—"

"Fine arts, dad," Lance corrected tartly.

"I don't even know what that means," his dad laughed.

"I guess it's an expensive way to say, 'Do you want fries with that?'" Keith joked.

Lance felt his face go hot as his parents filled the room with their laughter. He frowned and busied his hands with grabbing more  ornaments.

Okay. Maybe he had had that coming, after all he'd done. He excused the jab, but it still wounded.

As if reading the mood, Keith grabbed an ornament from the box on the coffee table. "Homemade?" He asked, lifting an old piece, a lightbulb that'd been rolled in masking tape and painted in shoe polish to look like a reindeer. It had one googly eye now.

"Lance made that when he was eight," Lance's mom said. She took the ornament with a smile, reflective. "He was always a little quirky as a child." Lance shot her a look of offense, but she continued obliviously. "You know, his brother and sister had been so mature and reserved at that age, but he was a little," she weighed her head. "Goofy."

Keith glanced Lance's way, amused. "Really."

Lance felt like a tea kettle on the verge of whistling.

"We even paid a little boy down the street to be his friend once, but he gave us our money back," his mom did a laugh. "He said he could only handle Lance in doses."

"Alright, mom, he gets it," Lance interjected, opting to ignore the embarrassment consuming him.

His mom approached the tree. "So from then on, it was always Lance and his projects," she hooked his homemade decor on a sprig of the tree. "And Bo Bo Blonkers, of course."

A stifled laugh tumbled out of Keith's mouth as he stood by Lance. "Bo Bo...Blonkers?"

"Lance's imaginary friend," Lance's dad supplied, carrying the tree-topper.

"Thanks, dad. Thanks a lot," Lance muttered to himself, a hand to his face.

"What was that?" Keith leaned in. He did a cursory glance of the room. "Are you talking to Bo Bo Blonkers right now?"

And Lance elbowed him.

"I have an idea!" Lance's mom took the tree-topper from his dad's hands. She extended it to Keith. "Matt, how 'bout you put the star on the tree?"

_ Oh, NO! _

"Mom, I've always put the star up on the tree," Lance said pointedly. "Remember? When dad used to hold me up to the tree, when I was little?"

"Aw, honey, don't be selfish," his mom said. She held the star out to Keith.

Lance's mouth opened in outrage. He looked to his dad quickly. "Dad, it's my thing! I mean, doesn't anyone care about tradition anymore?"

"Lance, there's nothing wrong with starting a new tradition," his dad gestured to Keith. "Up the tree, Matt."

Keith blinked before appearing to remember himself. "Oh. Thank you," he gave a small smile before taking the ladder beside him.

Lance stayed a little pressed about that for a while. The way the afternoon rolled by put him at small ease, though. Keith had kept his word in playing the role of the best boyfriend ever. He wasn't a talkative guy, from what Lance took of things, and that was good for the both of them. He had all the right answers to every question, most of which were asked by his parents.

And even if what he had done yesterday was wrong, there was a feeble part of himself that was happy. He was glad he hadn't come alone to face his parent's quiet disapproval. He was glad Keith was there.

Outside the kitchen window, Lance watched his niece and nephew patting the mounds of a snowman. From their right, Keith was rolling the head of their perfect little Frosty. He propped the snowman's head on; his gaze wandered and held Lance's through the window. A roguish smile curled Keith's lips, one that sent heat crawling up Lance's neck. Lance gave the curtain a small yank and turned his back on the window.

On the other hand, however, Lance was not at all happy with the way his family doted over Keith in such cloying way. There was something in their eyes Lance hadn't caught from them personally in a long time. Pride.

 

***

 

"There's an excellent craftsmanship that goes into building a cabin like this," Keith eyeballed the interior of the living room, nodding. Night had fallen, and everyone in Lance's family had gathered around the living room to talk and snack on the apple pie Jane had made.

And he hadn't been bluffing entirely, either, if he was being honest with himself. It was a lovely Adirondack-styled lodge, something he would've loved to spend time in himself. He couldn't have ever, though. There was that being alone part he'd hated, and yet grown too accustomed to. The fact that there were people to share the experience with was kind of nice.

Even if none of it had been planned.

"You've got a good eye for this kind of stuff, huh?" Oscar asked.

"I guess you could say so," Keith said nonchalantly, quietly proud.

"Oh, don't be so modest," Jane said around her mug of eggnog. "Would you like another piece of pie, Matt?"

"Sure."

Jane smiled and elbowed Lance, who was sitting beside her and finishing off his own slice. "Lance, would you go get Matt another piece of pie, please?"

Lance made a face. "He knows where the kitchen is."

And that, too. Ever since Keith had pulled a three-sixty on his attitude about the situation, it had only peeved Lance. In an amusing way, too. He'd gotten to sit through a number of stories of Lance's past, about his childhood, and about moments he was sure Lance would have liked for everyone to forget. Was he not doing the right thing in keeping up this ruse? That was what Lance wanted, right?

Jane turned to Lance. "Are you trying to ruin Christmas?" She whispered to him.

Keith held down a snort at the way Lance's nostrils flared, like an angry little bull. Lance set aside his plate and made for the kitchen.

In his most charming—well, as charming as he could muster—Keith called. "Aw, thank you,  _bunnykins!"_

He caught Lance's glare with a saintly smile.

_ Too easy. _

Jane set aside her mug of eggnog, lifting the sleeved book she'd been holding in her lap. "Matt, every year, we like to read 'Twas the Night Before Christmas," as she held out the book, Lance walked back into the room and nearly staggered over his feet, owlishly blinking at his mother as if she were holding an orangutan. "I was hoping you'd do the honors this year."

Javi clapped, celebratory, and his grandkids joined in.

"Really?" Keith asked, taking the book.

Lance set down his plate of pie with a sharp clink. "That's it," he threw his hands in exasperation. "I've had enough!" And stormed out of the room.

Everyone's gaze followed him out, dumbfounded.

Keith, for a moment, stayed as stricken. "I better go check on him," he said and handed the book to Linda.

When he found Lance again, he was upstairs in their room, sulking in his bunk and holding the post. He rubbed his cheek and did not acknowledge Keith until he entered.

"What's the matter with you?" Keith asked.

Lance spared him a glare. "What's the matter with me? They're fawning all over you like the last piece of filet mignon!"

"I thought that's what you wanted," Keith laughed, knitting his brows. "Isn't that the whole point of all this?"

"Well, yeah, but..."

"But..?"

Something flashed across Lance's face. His expression pinched enough to look wounded. "My parents, they," he squinted as if to fight the shimmer in his eyes. His gaze flickered between Keith and the wall. "They like you more than - they like me."

Keith had never been a consolatory kind of guy. But he knew when someone was hurting. And even if there was a part of him that wanted to stay agitated with everything about Lance, there was a nagging sympathy warring with the need to keep a cold front that he couldn't simply ignore.

"Well, I didn't even wanna read the stupid story," Keith said.

Lance's sadness edged into annoyance. "So don't read the story," he bit out childishly. "I don't care if you read the story."

Keith felt a brow pinch. "Well, then fine, I'm gonna read the story."

Lance stood, his lips a big pout. "Fine!"

"Fine."

Together, they walked back to the living room in silence.  _ So much for the effort in consoling, _ Keith admonished himself.

"Is everything fine?" Jane asked.

"Everything's fine, mom," Lance said. He plopped down on the couch right next to Keith then, as if to convey things were peachy.

Linda passed him the storybook back with an elated little smile.

Oh, he was really about to do this, wasn't he?

Keith opened the book to the first page. "'Twas the night before Christmas," he recited. "When all through the house. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse..."

He had never been one for poems, ever, but there was something so gratifying about the glow of the room as he read. Each glance he took made him feel warmed. Even Lance, who'd been so indignant earlier, watched with poorly concealed awe.

_ I know,  _ Keith thought.  _ I can't believe I'm doing this, either. _

 

***

 

Lance and Keith did clean up in the kitchen as the evening put everyone to bed. They worked in a companionable silence and, as Keith guessed, they were both probably a little too embarrassed to talk about their day.

Jane set a plate of oreos and a glass of milk on the counter.

"What are those for?" Lance asked.

"Santa gets hungry," Jane lifted a brow, her gaze flickering between him and Keith. From the island's drawer, she pulled out scrap paper and pens.

"Mom, we don't have to make Christmas lists this year," Lance winced.

"How's Santa gonna know what you want?"

Lance took the pens and paper with pursed lips.

"Goodnight," Jane said. And with that, she left them to their own.

"Your mom's very nice," Keith said, and Lance scoffed.

"Please. She's already married us off in her head."

Parents were funny like that, was what Keith took from his words. With a shrug, he grabbed the plate of cookies and milk and stole to the little booth seater at the corner of the kitchen. Lance took their scrap papers and followed in suit.

"Those are for Santa," Lance said pointedly as he sat beside him.

"And what's it gonna look like if he doesn't eat his cookies?" Keith flashed a smile, grabbing an oreo and dunking it quickly.

"Ech! Figures you're a dunker," Lance wrinkled his nose.

"What are you, a twister?"

Emphatically, Lance grabbed his own oreo and twisted the two cookies apart, licking at the cream.

"That's so wrong in so many ways," Keith said.

Lance rolled his eyes and returned to their empty papers. "This is so dumb."

"Well, I hope you're not expecting any Christmas gifts from Santa," Keith bit into his cookie. "A federal offense probably puts you on the naughty list this year."

"Laugh. It. Up." Lance passed a page Keith's way. "You have to do one, too."

"What?" He stole a look Lance's way, catching the way he was looking up thoughtfully before scooting out of the booth.

Lance bounded over to a small rack of wines. He swiped one from the shelf and flaunted it at Keith with a small smile. "This may take a while."

And suddenly, Keith's interest was anew. They spent a good few minutes penning in their wish lists, taking respective sips from their glasses of wine and arguing over who could have the last oreo. They split it in the end, to Keith's dismay.

"I'm gonna ask for a shiny red Ducati," Keith scratched an exclamation point in his paper.

"Mmm, interesting," Lance said. He flashed a grin with a lot of teeth his way. "I'm gonna ask for an end to global warming."

"You think my list is too superficial?"

"I don't know," Lance shrugged. He plucked Keith's paper from his hands. "Lemme see."

"I wasn't finished—"

"You want a pasta machine?"

"Better than spaghettios."

"Don't you want anything - I don't know, meaningful?" Lance lifted a brow.

Keith hadn't thought about that. He had everything he needed. A good roof over his head, a perfect job. He didn't necessarily know what else to ask for. There hadn't been much he'd dreamed for. Just things he'd known he had to have. Or thought he did, at least.

"Well, what'd you put?" Keith disregarded the question quickly, stealing Lance's list from the table.

"I'm not done!" Lance swiped for it, but Keith kept it in hold.

"Tiki lights," he read, smiling. "Chinese teapot, stop disappointing...my parents..."

Lance looked to the floor, and it was all the confirmation Keith needed. No wonder Lance had done everything he'd done. Whatever went on between his relatives, it'd been enough to make him feel small and out of place and ill-equipped among a family victors. Being surrounded by so much special must have been hard to take for someone who felt otherwise.

Keith bit the inside of his cheek. He looked at Lance. "Come on, I'm sure that's not true."

"Believe me. It is," Lance said. And it was with a sad conviction, too.

"Your parents are good people," Keith said. "They love you."

"I just wish that they'd look at me that way," Lance lifted a shoulder. "Kind of like way they look at you."

"They do."

Lance laughed, small a bitter. "They don't," he stood from the booth, as if he were dissuading the air of comfort Keith was trying to offer. "It was hard enough thinking they'd still look at me like the same person after coming out to them. That was a couple years ago, and it's still one of the scariest things I've ever done."

"What's the other?"

"I think you know."

Keith fought the urge to smile again. A silence befell the room.

"The best Christmas I ever had was when I was ten," Lance said at last. From behind the table, he was peeking through the window's curtains. "I was taking figure-skating lessons, and I was supposed to have this huge recital Christmas Eve," he sighed, as if the pang of the memory was still fresh. "There was this huge snow storm that happened, and they canceled it. I was so crushed."

Lance traced a face in the cold of the windowpane. "But we had this patio out back, and my dad shoveled it and ran the hose over it, and it made ice," Keith caught his reflection smiling. "And my mom had decorated all the trees in the back with lights. The glow was so beautiful. It was so quiet. And that Christmas Eve, I skated my whole little routine, with my parents watching... It was like I was the only person in the world."

Keith knew that feeling. He'd never been in a position where he had appreciated it much, but he knew. And something about the thought of a younger, much smaller Lance taking over the ice had him smiling again, like a fool.

"Somewhere along the line, things changed," Lance said. "I just wish they still felt that way about me."

Keith left the booth and joined by his side, pocketing his hands. "You know, I think parents want the best for their kids, but," he thought for a second and shrugged. "Sometimes they don't know what that is."

Lance held his gaze for a moment, softening. "You're kind of funny, Keith."

"I don't hear that often."

"Remind me to say it again," Lance shrugged. "In case your pants rip again."

Keith made a broken noise. "You're the one who told a clerk I was into being tied down."

Lance's eyes widened, his cheeks going a good pink that gave Keith a surge of confidence. "We, we should," he gestured behind them, at their empty plate and glasses. "Clean up the evidence." He walked past Keith briskly, leaving him to his own devices.

Keith looked out the window this time and eyed the broken string lights draped around smaller evergreens around. Few bulbs carried red, green, or blue glows, no longer embalming the Christmas spirit Lance had once been wistful for. The truth was, Keith hadn't had a special Christmas in so long, he'd hardly retained much to memory. But he knew what it was all about, for some people. Obviously, to Lance, it'd been very special.

For a moment there, he wondered if there were any working string lights out back.

 

***

 

Takashi Shirogane entered the city's police department late that night. It'd been hours since his call with Keith.

_ "I can make a police report." _

_ "Yes! Wait—no. I mean—There's no reason to get the police involved," Keith had said. "I just need you to track the call." _

_ "Are you kidding? How?" _

_ "What's your intern friend's name - Pidge? Have them track it. Just—" _

_ "Keith—" _

_ "You know she can," Keith sounded pleading. "I'll be fine. Track the call. Pick me up. I-I gotta go." _

The call ended abruptly.

Calling Pidge an intern friend was a little bit of an overstatement. She was an unpaid intern of the company, who devoted most of her time to school and part-timing at her dad's restaurant. And she was just a kid with an applaudable knowledge on technology.

And there was absolutely no way Shiro could formulate a decent email asking for her assistance. How would he have even titled that?

** Help, Brother Kidnapped ** from  ** Takashi Shirogane, VP. **

He had deleted the draft as soon as it'd been typed.

Even if it went against Keith's request, this was the safest option, for the both of them.

The officer behind the front desk acknowledged him with a raise of his brows. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah," Shiro nodded. He inhaled deeply and glanced from his phone to the officer. "I need to file a report."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
> 
> those two, getting along. (cue audience) awww-www.
> 
> lance's family's full of some frescitas. and shiro has no idea what he's doing.
> 
> twitter : [@peachgrdn](https://mobile.twitter.com/peachgrdn)  / tumblr : [peachgrdn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/peachgrdn)


	3. bells and whistles

After rallying everyone in the kitchen the following morning, Lance's mom laid out a schedule for everyone's day.

"Lori, Oscar, you'll be doing kitchen duty with me. Javi, you're chopping fire wood. Kids, go play. Mom," she looked to Lance's grandma, who was already mixing a bloody mary at the island counter, because it was five o'clock somewhere. "Do whatever you want. Lance and Matt—"

Lance raised his eyebrows.

His mom smiled. "You guys go outside and have some fun. I've left some warm jackets and stuff by the back door... Presents are at four! Dinner's at seven," she waved. "That's it!"

And a day alone with Keith, too. As if that was just what Lance needed after a night of being so open, so honest. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so naked about his feelings with anyone. Granted, he wasn't one to normally to put walls up, but he knew where he stood with Keith. He knew where he should stand.

At the back door, Lance broached the topic as casually as he could. "About last night," he shucked a coat over himself. "I didn't mean to get so personal with you. It was probably the wine talking!" Yes, that very small glass of wine.

"Oh," Keith eyes widened a fraction. He blinked his gaze away from Lance and pulled a scarf around his neck. "No, I, uh, I didn't take it that way at all."

"I just wanted to be sure, you know," Lance gave a weak laugh. "Not that I thought that you might think that." He quickly felt the morning going stale the longer he spoke.

"I didn't."

"Great! Good! You know what—"

"Lance?"

"Yes?"

"Put your hat on," Keith said and extended a little navy beanie out to him.

"Yes."

After heading out, they both made across the small wooden bridge out back leading to the pond and gazebo. Nearly everything was caked in fat banks of snow, to the trees and the rolling lawns in the horizon. A game of hockey was set up over the glassy surface of the frozen pond, beckoning to be skated upon. Eventually, Lance and Keith were head-to-head again. This time, both wielding hockey sticks.

"Have you even played hockey before, Flash?" Lance mocked.

"I've played my fair share," Keith said.

"Well, I've been playing with my brother since I could walk," Lance gloated. "So let's go."

Sad to say, Lance wasn't nearly as graceful playing on the ice as he was with plainly skating on it. Not with Keith, at least. He'd been checked three times, slipping onto his back with an "oof!" for each number. Each time Keith went to lend him a hand, Lance waved him off with a quick, "I'm okay, I'm okay". He was sore everywhere in under ten minutes.

"You sure you wanna keep doing this?" Keith asked. There was nothing apologetic about the way he grinned.

"Yeah! C'mon!"

_ Oh, my everything. _

In the end, Lance was grateful to get one single goal, all accomplished mid-belly-slide. He fell only twice after that. He'd let the day decide whether or not he had a concussion.

Keith took him to his feet with a hand in one swift, appreciatively strong movement. "You know, I gotta give it to you," he shook some ice off Lance's jacket. "You're pretty scrappy."

Lance inhaled a burning lungful, wiping at his ruddy nose before serving a smack to Keith's chest. "I think you've had enough for now."

There was a sneering quality to Keith's laugh as they ditched the pond.

In the quaint of the outside, Lance found comfort in the peaceful quality of a silent winter. The only noise besides the quiet roar of the icy river was the sound of his and Keith's shoes making fresh prints in the snow. They walked alongside a sparse forest of trees powdered in snow.

"So, what do you do for fun?" Keith asked suddenly, his voice light, as if he were talking about the weather.

"For fun?"

"Yeah, like...what are you interested in?"

"I paint," Lance said. He waited for a remark that never came.

"Really? What kind of paintings?"

Lance fought a smile there, for a second, as Keith looked at him with something he dared to call intrigued. He felt squeezed of air as he answered. "Oil paintings? I do scenic ones, mostly - and portraits. Sometimes digital."

"Oh," Keith said. "Like Alifan? Or more like Leonid Afremov?"

"I love Afremov!" Lance's eyes went huge. "You know Afremov?"

Keith leaned in. "You shouldn't jump to conclusions about people."

Lance felt his cheeks go hot. He shook his head, waving away Keith's comment as if it were a burp. "Aaanyways," he stepped over a log. "What else do you do besides work in retail with the big guys?" His voice went purposely posh, a jab to Keith's imperious line of work.

"I didn't start off like that," Keith said. "I actually wanted to study architecture. For a while there, I thought I was gonna go out on my own."

"Why didn't you?"

"Eh, it's risky. And there's no money in it, unless you're established."

"What about your parents?" Lance asked. "Wouldn't they have helped you get started?"

Keith laughed. "Yeah, they would've, if they'd had two nickels to rub together. They were both school teachers," he nudged a branch out of their path with a foot. "They died in a car crash when I was eight."

Lance stopped suddenly, a pang a hurt threading deep. "Oh," he frowned. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think... I thought you said you were well off?"

"No, you did," Keith said pointedly. "I was in foster care up until after high school. Not that that ever did anything. I had to work my way through most of college mowing lawns and working at gas stations."

Lance winced. "Must've been tough."

"Actually, it kind of helped me in certain ways," Keith shrugged. "I learned at an early age that we were all on our own."

He may have even spent years of Christmases alone, Lance knew, and he was glad he wasn't curious enough to ask. His heart went out to Keith then, betraying all of Lance's prior  _ don't you dare _ _'s._ Compassion was deceptive like that. Maybe it was because he knew a thing or two about what it meant to be on his own. Loneliness wasn't a stranger to either of them.

 

***

 

"Will you hurry up?" Keith asked. His patience was thread thin now as he hunched over in wait.

"Don't rush me," Lance said, pensively studying the arrangement of their game of chess.

Keith looked up at him, wondering how long it would take for Lance to realize that the only available spaces would put him in a compromising position anyway. A ticking clock mounted on the attic wall behind Lance clicked three times before he finally extended a hand out, hovering over one piece, and then another, and then retracted his hand with a "eh".

"Oh, for the love of God!" Keith groaned.

"Fine, fine," Lance conceded and grabbed a piece, knocking over a bishop and stealing it. "Ha!"

Without a single breath, Keith moved his chess piece and stole a pawn right back. "Ha."

"Hey!"

"Awww," Keith feigned a sulking face, holding Lance's pawn like a trophy. "Making a move like that must be killing you."

"Keith!" Lance, thinking himself clever, reached over the table in a desperate attempt to retrieve his piece.

A grin broke over Keith's face as he quickly seized his wrists, leaned over their game and, like a child, used Lance's hands to patter against his own cheeks. "Oh! - Lance, why are you hitting yourself?"

"N—ah, stop!"

"Seriously, Lance, I'm starting to worry about you!"

Lance wrenched himself free, bubbling with laughter and reaching out a hand again. His hair stayed a disheveled little mess as he made a pout that was quickly becoming one of Keith's favorites. "Give it back! I didn't mean to!"

"You did it! It's done!"

"It was a mistake!" Lance groused.

"You can't take something back once it's already done," Keith said with a gesture.

Something flashed in Lance's wide-eyed gaze that made his chest go tight. Lance softened suddenly, eyebrows lifting, hopeful. "Even if you realize, right away, that it was a dumb thing to do...and it was very wrong? And you're sorry?" He asked quietly, and Keith knew then that they weren't just talking about chess anymore.

Keith sighed, knowing the sincerity and feeling like a sucker. "Fine," he succumbed to Lance's doleful gaze and extended the chess piece out to him. "But know...that you're a cheater."

"I think I can live with that."

"Such a cheater," Keith rolled his eyes, unable to will away the smile taking up his face.

Beyond his appreciation for Lance's apology, there was definitely something there. The better part of himself attempted to tuck that thought away, knowing what was right and what was — he looked at Lance.

He didn't want to call himself wrong for taking a liking to him. Keith could like him. They could be friends.

Keith looked at his emptied glass of milk, anything to get his mind away from the dangerous territory it was approaching. He lifted their plates of oreos. "We should get some more milk for these."

"Probably," Lance smiled. He stood up and pulled the waistband of his jeans up, doing a small wiggle. "Hold that thought, though. I need to use the luh-vora-tory. Get me?"

"Just go," Keith laughed, and he watched Lance bound down the stairs.

Even alone, Keith couldn't escape the turmoil of his own feelings. It'd been two days they'd spent together, but he just couldn't shake the way Lance was the prior night. It was as though suddenly Keith wasn't Keith, and he was just someone close enough to hear something so private. Something only friends could hear. Just thinking about it made him queasy with uncertainty and excitement. He liked hanging out with Lance. Walking outside, listening to him ramble about the things he loved painting, unsolved mysteries, cheesy eighties movies. The way his eyes lit up, the way he talked so fast, as if he were afraid that waffling on for too long might tune Keith out. Never. He couldn't tune him out if he tried.

After assembling their game of chess back to how it had started, he went about the space of the room to tidy up a little. He grabbed a blanket to fold from a club chair, and from underneath it, a notebook fell. The book, a photo book, as he now opened it, featured collections of pictures. Each was an oil painting, each distinguished in their own way, and each signed by Lance. He had done them. And he was great, too. There were plenty of pages filled: A young boy gazing over a balcony made of vines. A pink bakery sitting on the corner of a cracked, deserted intersection. A couple holding hands in a beacon of light, succumbed by its glow. A portrait of a woman covered in shimmering scales. There was a beauty to the way Lance painted the world.

As Keith went downstairs, the warm scent of ginger filled the halls. He met Lance halfway, who'd just left the restroom, patting his hands on his jeans.

"Hi," Lance smiled.

Keith opened his mouth to speak.

"Lance, are you over there?" Lori's voice traveled from the kitchen. "Can you and Matt come help me frost the cookies?"

Lance's gaze flickered from the kitchen to Keith, and he shrugged. "Guess we should."

"Right," Keith said and wished to give himself a kick for never getting the word in fast enough.

When they both entered the kitchen, Lance halted in the doorway, and Keith only realized a moment later that Lori and Oscar were pointing at him from the counter.

_ Wait. _

They were pointing at  _ them. _

"Oh! You know the rule," Lori grinned.

And only then, as Keith looked up, did he realize they were talking about the mistletoe hanging over their heads.

Lance began sputtering an excuse beside him, waving frantically. And Keith suddenly found himself slowly losing hold of those boundaries he'd been trying to set up earlier.

"It's just holiday tradition, Lance," said Oscar.

"I, ah— We're not really into public displays of affectio—" As Lance looked to Keith, he was silenced into a confused whimper of a noise.

Lance's lips were soft, pliant, open, and nearly unresponsive as Keith kissed him a little fiercely. His hands found Lance's arms, squeezing there and feeling his prior shock go slack as Lance even reciprocated the gesture and, just as quickly, pulled away. Lance's cheeks were red, eyes wide and kissed-pink mouth agape.

Keith had never felt so afraid. His heart raced in his ears as they held each other's gaze in a flushed silence.

At the kitchen island, Lori's loud humming of a wedding bells' hymn pulled them both out of their daze.

"Lori!" Lance scolded shrilly. He walked into the kitchen to assist her with icing the gingerbread men, but not without giving Keith a wary glance of finality.

Great. Now he was the one who looked crazy to the both of them.

_ I can't believe I kissed him. _

 

***

 

_ I can't believe he kissed me! _

Wasn't there a rule on what one could and could not do in a fake relationship?

Oh, and it was a good kiss, too. Keith's lips were so warm and insistent. A little rough, but, ugh, it made him tingle all over thinking about it. Lance could feel it in his toes, he swore! The worst part about it was, he couldn't manage to throw away the sloppy little smile that made home on his face while he piped frosting over the gingerbread men. He was like a lovelorn puppy, and anyone could see it written on his face.

When it came time for presents, the family gathered back in the living room, picking off their presents one by one. Predictably, the children got the most: barbies, slime kits, a dollhouse. It was the adults that always served the crap gifts. Grandma got a mug, Lance's mom, a potpourri bag, Lori, a gaudy blue dress, because mom said it brought out the brown of her eyes, and Oscar, some ties. Lance's dad got underwear. He took the cake.

"Oh. Nice," Keith said as he raised his gift. He received a back scrubber. "Thank you."

"For exfoliation," Javi said, snapping finger guns at him that made Lance want to bury his head in the snow and scream.

"Lance, why don't you open your present?" his mom asked.

He couldn't get this over with faster. Lance grabbed his personal gift box, stunned by the weight of it.  Something good? He quelled his hopefulness as he ripped into the candy cane paper, popped the lid to the box beneath, and—a briefcase.

_ A briefcase. _

And it was definitely not intended to store art portfolios. Lance swallowed hard and looked up. It felt stifling to breathe, almost, as everyone's attention fell on him. All but his mother's.

"We just thought..." his mom trailed off. She was wringing her hands in her lap.

"It's fine," Lance flashed a waning smile. He set the briefcase aside with a heavy heart. He knew the intention behind the present. He knew what they wanted.

His dad, sitting beside her, leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "Look, I don't know, exactly, what's going on with you lately, but," he relented a sigh that made Lance wince. "I think it's time for you to get your head out of the clouds."

"What do you mean?" Lance asked, a betraying bite to his voice.

"I mean, you need to  _ grow up, _ and get focused on a legitimate career," his dad said. "You're unsettled. You're unfocused."

Lance closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He couldn't understand why. Why did he have to be knocked down so much? Why couldn't his parents encourage him to do what he loved? If they could do that for their two other children, why not this one? It was like it was a crime to dream in this family.

"You need to find something that you do really well," his dad finished.

"But I have! I do!" Lance cried. "It's painting! It's the only thing I care about, it's—it's the only thing that makes me feel like me!"

His dad made a noise of exasperation. "That has nothing to do with what I'm talking about. You can draw, or paint, or," he rolled his eyes. "Color, or do whatever you want in your spare time. This is your life I'm talking about here!"

"So am I!"

_ Mine, _ Lance thought.  _ Not the family's. Mine. _

"Don't you want to do something with your life?"

"Yes! But I—"

"Lance," his mom intervened. She put a hand over his dad's. "Honey, we were just trying to help."

Lance knew that look. It was paired with his name and disappointment almost frequently. He had to fight tears not to come. He looked to his side tiredly, blinking misty eyes at Keith, who'd gotten a front row seat to his own humiliation. Lance sighed, unable to bear the weight of sympathy he caught in Keith's eyes. Or maybe it was pity.

"Um. With all due respect, sir," Keith spoke suddenly. He made the word  _ sir _ sound a lot like a curse. "I've seen Lance's paintings."

Lance's head shot back up.

"And, well, they're raw," Keith continued. "And expressive. And unique. And...a little strange, but," he guided his gaze Lance's way. "Really beautiful."

Lance felt punched of air. He looked from Keith to his dad and, awed to witness it, saw a give in his dad's expression.

"I'd want him to follow his dreams," Keith said, and Lance remained too robbed of words and movement to react consciously to the way Keith set a hand over his own. "And I want him to do what he loves, because, well...I like seeing him inspired. I want him to be happy, more than anything."

_ Heaven, help me. _

Keith moved from his chair to sit flush to him. Lance, nearly catatonic, stayed speechless as an arm wrapped around his middle. "And I think, um, now's probably the best time to say it because...I want to marry him."

Lance's stomach dropped like a deadweight as everyone in the room let out a shriek that could've shattered the windows. Aubrey and Brandon, Lori's children, covered their ears as his relatives rose from their spots to congratulate their impromptu engagement.

"Oh, this is the best present you could ever give meee!" his mom warbled, wrapping Keith into a swaying hug.

Lance felt hot all over, dazedly blinking at his older brother and sister.

"Congratulations?" Lori offered.

Oscar mussed his hair. "Baby brother's growing up!"

Lance's mom belted out a high, stringy laugh, grinning ear to ear as she clapped her hands together. "Ohhh, I can't wait to start planning," she crooned.

"What?" Lance asked, and she turned to the rest of the family.

"Everyone, go change, ah," she glanced at the clock over the fireplace. "Dinner's at seven." His mom turned to him with a smile and squeezed his hands.

For the first time in what felt like forever, there was that twinkle in her eyes again. Lance found instant comfort in it.

"We will all talk about this over dinner," she winked.

The family led themselves out of the living room, even Lori's kids, were ushered away from their new toys to give Lance and Keith their privacy.

Lance held his nervous smile until they were all gone. "Why," he looked at Keith almost frantically. "Why did you say that?"

A little color to his cheeks, Keith pocketed his hands. "Figured we might as well give them all the bells and whistles," he said on a grin.

Or save Lance from his parents, Lance knew, and he could tell that Keith had done it just for him.

"Thank you," Lance said softly. He looked at his shoes before daring to meet Keith's gaze again. "I assume you made up that part about the paintings?"

"I saw your album. It was kind of next to your belongings."

"Oh," Lance's smile faltered. "Well, sorry to disappoint you, but the keys aren't there."

"I wasn't looking for the keys," Keith shook his head. "It was an accident. Relax."

"Oh," was all Lance could manage again, feeling silly for it.

How could he even begin to express his gratitude? Keith practically—he did just propose to him, in front of his whole family. If there had been an agreement they'd settled upon, that definitely hadn't been a part of it. Keith rescued him from a scene of humiliation.

He did it because he wanted to.

"I'm sorry," Lance said finally, doing a little slouch. "I just—I'm so sorry, for...everything."

"To be honest, it hasn't been that bad," Keith said. His eyes crinkled with a little smirk, one that made Lance's heart do a silly thump.

"Well, if you can just hang in through Christmas dinner, I'll take you anywhere you want, okay?"

And if Keith could only stop looking at him like that, it might actually make things a lot easier for the both of them. It might make things a lot easier for Lance. His heart wasn't suited for this much of beating. In a couple hours, he would have to say goodbye to Keith. And those were never fun.

 

***

 

_ Ding-dong. _

"I'll get the door," Pidge said around a mouthful of chicken. She excused herself from the family table and made out the dining room.

As she swung open the door, she nearly choked. Standing just behind the threshold was Shiro. Mr. Takashi Shirogane, VP of the company. VP of the company she was doing school credit for.

"Holy shi—" Pidge hiccuped, hitting her chest with a fist and swallowing. "Shiro! Shi—What are you doing here? At my house?" she gave a quick glance at the stone-faced officers behind him. "With the police."

Shiro, who'd looked just as surprised, bared his teeth in an apologetic smile. "I-I didn't know you lived here. Your father owns the diner?"

"Who do you think owned Holt's Diner?" Pidge blinked, a nervously tight knot in her chest. She looked to the officer standing behind Shiro. "Did something happen?"

And suddenly, she was thinking about all the songs she'd illegally downloaded off their work computers.

_ Play cool, Katie. _

"Whoa-ho, what are the police doing here?" Footsteps approached then, just behind her, and her brother, Matt, came to her side. Just her luck. "Something the matter, officers?"

"This man says one of the waiters at your diner may have kidnapped his brother," said the officer.

Pidge's stomach dropped and, in unison, she and Matt said, "Oh..."

The other officer beside Shiro lifted a notepad. "Said he was about 5'9. Crazy hair. Crazy eyes. Any of that ring a bell?"

_ Ding-ding-ding! _

"Doesn't...ring my bell," Matt said through his teeth, and Pidge slapped a palm to her face.

"Pidge," Shiro looked to her, and Pidge thought she might just crumble under the pressure of his pleading gaze. "If you know where he is, you need to tell me."

Like a fish, Pidge's mouth fell open and closed. As she tried to speak, Matt blurted and killed the silence.

"It's not his fault!"

Pidge scowled hard at Matt.  _ Nice job. _

One of the officers exchanged a look between Pidge and Matt. "We're gonna need a name."

 

***

 

Keith spent the remainder of his evening working by the gazebo outside, propping a ladder to several trees until he'd been tired enough to sweat in the cold. He didn't know what overcame him. Walking the morning away with Lance had a great deal to do with showing it, maybe. That, and their Christmas disaster with the family.

How could they have been so cruel? Lance had such sheer talent. They hadn't even cared to recognize it so much as they'd cared to crush it. It was like they were living in a world where money mattered, and not their son's genuine happiness. Keith had only been so lucky he had smoothed the edges over with his proposal.

He nearly got down on his knee! He'd said he wanted to marry Lance, and it'd puffed away all of Javi and Jane's anger. And it made Keith comfortable, too. His heart felt relieved to see they no longer had shots to take at Lance. Seeing him pained was damaging enough.

After entering the cabin, Keith squeezed in a hot shower before the time got close to dinner. He slung a towel around his waist afterwards and brushed his teeth in the mirror.

What was Lance going to think of his present? Was he going to be happy to see what Keith had done, or scared?

Keith sighed.

_ What if he thinks I'm nuts for doing something weirdly thoughtful for him? _

They were just friends, that was all. Enemies turned friends turned fake fiancées.

Keith rinsed his mouth and spat before the bathroom door opened.

"I need to use the—" Lance started and froze in the doorway. His eyes went round as golfballs. "Toothpaste."

Speak of the devil.

"Sorry," Lance added a little softly, shyer. His cheeks were a hot pink as his eyes skirted to the side. Anywhere but Keith or his body. "I need the..."

"Oh," Keith spared a small laugh. He passed the tube of toothpaste over, and Lance clutched it before locking eyes with him. "Do you need to take a shower?"

Lance's mouth fell open, and Keith could've sworn he was short-circuiting by the way he blinked unresponsively, scarlet suffusing his face.

"No!" he said a little shrilly, pulling the tube to his chest. "I mean, no. I'll just wait 'til you're dry—done!"

Keith said nothing, amused.

"I-I should probably go," Lance backed away, bumping into the doorframe on his way out.

"Probably," Keith smiled, and as Lance left, he knew then.

He was completely doomed.

 

***

 

Now the evening had come at last. Lance had bathed, perfumed himself, and gone through everything in his suitcase before settling on a beige little turtleneck and high-waisted black jeans that fit him in all the right places. To a tuft of his hair, he secured two pins.

He loved everything about the way he looked, turning in the mirror, practicing a face. He was dinner ready. After that thought, he winced at his reflection. He'd also need to be ready to part with Keith. It was bad enough they'd become so close in such a short time.

The thought of goodbyes made him want to storm into another room and slam a door like a child. Why had he done this to himself? To Keith? Keith, who listened to him babble on like crazy, who liked to hear what Lance had to say, challenged him, made him feel like he wasn't an alien for being himself. He was disarming like that. Unexpectedly, too. Lance never would have guessed.

While he slipped into a pair of ankle boots, a knock broke him out of his reverie.

"Hope I didn't scare you back there," Keith said. He was standing at the doorway, leaning his frame against it. He was donning a white dress shirt, accentuated with a black blazer and pants that elicited all of Lance's attention.

"No," Lance smiled admirably.

_ Scare me? No. Make me want you? Yes, yes, absolutely. _

Absolutely unfair was what it was. Keith must hit the gym nearly every week to look like that. Tightly muscled with a toned chest. Lance wanted nothing more than to squeeze his bicep, just to test the feel. His mind felt fizzy again.

"You look..." Keith gestured out. His gaze did a liquid once-over, like he'd found the word. "Stunning."

_ Stop that. _

"Thank you," Lance said. He willed himself to sound as casual as he could. "You too. I mean, you look nice. As well."

Keith's mouth settled into the loveliest smile. "Come on," he nodded towards the hall. "I wanna show you something."

They followed the small bridge out back to the gazebo outside. In the soft glow of the moon, the snow-covered atmosphere glittered invitingly, claiming the land in white.

"I'm not challenging you to a rematch," Lance said as they crossed the frozen pond, pulling his coat tighter.

"Hold on just a second," Keith waved off his comment, mounting the steps of the gazebo. He grabbed a pair of skates from beside the bench and returned. "Put these on."

Lance touched his coat defensively. "Wha— It's almost dinner time. And I'm not even wearing a proper outfit, you moron."

"Please, shut up," Keith held the skates out.

"Shut up?"

"Just put these on," Keith said.

Lance conceded with a small sigh. He vaguely minded the way Keith eagerly passed him on the steps while he traded his boots for skates. As soon as they were laced, a  _ click _ ignited the glow of hundreds of bulbs. Lance gasped as their atmosphere became bathed in the buttery hue of string lights—curled around the structure of the gazebo, wound around every small evergreen that bordered the pond.

"Oh, my gosh," Lance whispered. He stood from the steps slowly, awed as though the lights were stars that had fallen down to earth. With the way his breath stayed tight, it felt very much like so. "I can't believe you did all this," he raised his gaze to Keith, who smiled at the top step. "It's beautiful." And he had to will himself not to cry.

"You're welcome," Keith said softly. Lance swallowed a lump in his throat, touching his hands to his reddening ears, as if it were the cold bugging him. "But you owe me something in return."

"What?"

"A show," Keith said, and Lance's heart flipped.

"No way," Lance shook his head, uncannily bashful.

"Come on, I wanna see this famous routine."

"Really?"

Keith nodded. He really wanted this?

"Okay, but if you laugh..." Lance started and trailed off quickly. Keith's smile was not a teasing one. Lance gave a small shove to his chest, and Keith only gave a laugh in retribution. "Okay, fine."

Lance eased center ice as Keith stood back in the gazebo, leaning on a post with pocketed hands. He couldn't help but grin to himself with unrestrained delight at the thought of Keith investing his time into this. As his heart raced, he glided seamlessly over the pond, reliving old memories to now, falling into routine with the same passion as before. The night was beautifully quiet and the sounds of his blades cutting ice filled the air. He didn't care to understand how then, but Keith had done it.

It was as if the world had become his own again.

After he slipped back into his boots, Lance joined Keith in the gazebo, leaning on his shoulder with cheeks ruddy from the cold.

"I'm out of practice," Lance said breathlessly.

Keith lidded his eyes with a smile. "Best I've seen," he said. "You know what you looked like?"

"Mm?"

"One of your pieces."

Lance leaned off of Keith and tilted his head. "How so?"

"Surreal," Keith grinned and swept a wayward lock of hair from Lance's cheek. It was a small gesture but Lance couldn't help to feel it everywhere.

Lance softened. "You didn't have to do this for me."

"I wanted to."

"Why?"

Keith opened his mouth.

"No," Lance said and touched his arm. He squinted. "I want to thank you anyway."

Keith said nothing.

"For playing along," Lance nodded. He gave a sad smile. "For...fending off my parents. You know, now that I'm sitting here, I don't even think I took you with me to impress them," he looked down and wore out a wrinkle in his glove with a thumb. "I think...I just didn't want to be alone. I think I needed a friend with me. Anyone, really."

And he'd usually think before he'd do, too. He always had. That was his way.

"I was scared," Lance finished deflatedly. "My family means the world to me. I just wish..."

"I know," Keith touched his elbow. Lance's gaze flickered back to him. "I know."

His eyes were so dark. Heady, almost. If Lance could say anything smart then, he would. He'd attempt to dismantle everything that this was. It wasn't right to let Keith on this way. And the more looks he got like that, the more the resolve to leave him alone began to erode.

"Yeah," Lance brushed away Keith's hand, worrying his underlip between his teeth. "You do."

 

***

 

A terrible uneasiness weighed on Keith as they seated at the dinner table. He almost didn't want the night to end, but Lance, he felt pained to think about it, was becoming more dodgy by the second. It was almost as if he was trying to stop Keith from getting his feelings out.

Nonetheless, they took seats next to each other. Not that Keith would have wanted it any other way. From his side view, he watched Lance swallow hard.

Javi seated himself at the end of the dining table.

"Your tie's crooked," Jane said quietly to her husband as she set down a basket of warm bread.

"You tied it," Javi pointed, and Keith watched Jane's face pinch slightly before she went to sit at the other end of the table.

Grammy Linda, seated on the other side of Keith, swirled her freshly made painkiller with a tart look on her face.

"Anyone care to say grace?" Lori asked, indicatively looking at Jane.

Looking out of it, Jane blinked and exchanged glances with Lori. "Huh?"

"Grace, mom."

"Oh, right," Jane nodded, though she still looked as though she barley comprehended, to Keith's suspicion. "Anyone?"

A blessed silence proceeded, each family member looking as though they were chewing the inside of their cheeks.

"I—!" Lance started, and Keith's gaze flickered to him fast. "I-I have something that I need to say..."

Keith held his hand under the table, and he watched as Lance kept a hard gaze on his full plate. Lance squeezed his hand once before slowly pulling his hand away. Keith's heart clenched at that.

"I—"

"Wait!" Lori threw her hands on the table. She gave Lance a pointed look and, for a second, Keith wondered if she knew, until she continued. "I actually...have something I need to share first."

Everyone at the table, including Lori's children, lifted their chin.

"The real...reason why Franco isn't here is because," Lori sighed. "We're separating."

Javi sucked in a thin thread of air. "What?"

"Oh, honey," Jane's face wrinkled with a sad smile. "I know. It happens."

Lori took her table napkin and wiped the corners of her eyes.

"Who's..?" Keith started, but Lance stayed looking as if he were stricken, slack-jawed.

Whoever this Franco was, he and Lori must have been close for Lance behave so shocked. And all Keith could think then was how ironic it was for Lance's sister, Ms. Perfect, to have an imperfect marriage. Made one think.

Keith kept silent as Javi held a hand to his chest.

"But you guys were so close," Javi said. "What happened?"

As Lori made to speak, Oscar, sitting beside her touched her shoulder. "Wait," he said, and then gave the table a cursory glance. "There's...something I need to get off my chest, too."

Grammy Linda took a big swig of her painkiller. Lori's kids mimicked the gesture with their glasses of tea.

"Might as well get it out there!" Javi threw his hands, clearly still grating on the news of his daughter's separation.

"Yeah," Oscar said and overlooked the dining table. "I'm gay."

Linda did a spit-take and Jane, who'd been sipping wine quietly, bursted into a fit of giggles, followed by her grandchildren.

"Oh, honey, I know!" Jane waved a hand, and Oscar gawked from her to Lance.

Keith looked to Lance, too, who shook his head at him and mouthed,  _ I didn't. _

Javi's face stayed stiff as stone. "Since when?"

Lance scoffed quietly.

Oscar tapped his fork on his plate awkwardly. "I'm not seeing Meli, either," he said. "I haven't seen her since college, actually. And she was just a classmate, too."

Keith held a hand over his mouth as Javi's eyes stayed dazedly wide.

"And I've been seeing someone else," Oscar continued. "And his name is Jonathan."

Lori elbowed Oscar hard. "I told you to say something to them sooner!"

"You knew about this?" Javi asked.

"Javi, are you blind?" Jane chimed in, receiving an equally offended look from her husband.

"Clearly," Lori gestured in Lance's direction, who only reddened from the attention. "Didn't even see his bi kid coming a mile away."

"Yeah, you sure pulled the wool over on us about that one, didn't you, Lance?" Jane joked, giggling with a snort. Someone had to take that glass away from her.

"You should've told us sooner," Javi said quietly, looking a little hurt at Oscar. "Why didn't you?"

Oscar shook his head with a shrug and looked away. "I don't know," he sighed. "I guess I kind of lacked the bravery Lance had."

Lance touched a hand to his chest, eyes gullibly huge.

"And when I saw how happy you guys were at seeing how he was with Matt," Oscar gestured at Keith, who shrunk in his seat. "I guess I needed to know if I was ready, too!"

Jane nearly keeled over, she was giggling so much from the end of the table.

"For God's sake, Janey," Javi glared. "What's going on with you?"

"What's going on with me?" Jane seized her laughter almost mechanically. "What's going on with you? You don't even know your kids well enough for them to tell you about their lives!"

"One to talk!" Javi retorted.

"Yes, I am!"

"That's because we all live in your little world, Jane! A perfect little world where nobody can say anything honest because it might be upsetting!"

Keith and Lance watched the scene unfold like a tennis match gone awry.

"Ohhh, so I'm the control freak?"

"I never said—"

"You are the  ass that's trying to force your children into becoming mini versions of yourself!"

"Guys!" Lori waved, attempting to diffuse the situation. "Stop it!"

"Yooou are the puppet master here, Jane," Javi's mouth twisted into a grimace. "And I'm just - your clown!"

"Good lord!" Linda bellowed from her spot. "This family makes straight marriage look frickin' exhausting. No wonder your kids are gay."

Lance snorted in his cup of tea.

A tangible silence followed in suit of the sound of Javi and Jane scooting their chairs back in.

Keith poked at his tamale awkwardly, exchanging an scared glance with Lance, who looked just as clueless as he. Somehow, though, he sensed a sign of relief.

Lance's family wasn't perfect. They weren't nearly perfect. Not in the slightest. And knowing that must have put him at ease.

Linda leaned over to Keith, raising her glass. "Aren't you glad you're gay?"

Lance, eavesdropping, laughed into his napkin until a raucous noise cut through the lodge.

Loud, omniscient banging reverberated through the dining room. Everyone picked their heads up in the direction of the foyer. And then a muffled voice yelled, "Police. Open up."

Keith's chest squeezed tight, as if someone were wringing the air from his lungs.  _ No. _

When he looked to his side, Lance was staring back at him with wide, fearful blue eyes. Above all, he looked betrayed. His eyes very clearly asked,  _ You called the police? _

"I didn't," Keith shook his head, a chill running through him as Jane went to answer the door. "Lance, I—"

Lance scooted out of his chair immediately and stood, as did everyone else as a couple officers filled the foyer, a clear view into the dining room.

"Ma'am," an officer nodded at Jane and looked over the rest of the room. "We have reason to believe one of you is guilty of kidnapping."

"Kidnapping?!" Javi scowled. "Who?"

"Keith Kogane," the officer said.

"Who the hell is Keith Kogane?" Jane asked, dumbfounded. And as soon as she had, something flickered across her face, and she looked right at Keith. Jane looked back at the officer. "That's— No, that's Matt. That's Lance's boyfriend, Matt."

"No, mom," Lance said finally, and everyone in the dining room turned their attention towards him. "He's not."

Keith's stomach churned.

Jane blanched. She looked from Lance to Keith.

"I'm not..." Keith's mouth felt dry. He pointed to Lance. "His boyfriend."

"What?" Lori whispered.

"This is getting weird," Oscar supplied quietly.

There was nothing that could turn the evening around fast. Keith wanted to grab Lance and run. That would surely be an even more ironic turn of events.

"Holy shit!" a young officer cried, drawing his gun as Grammy Linda scuttled into the foyer, waving the dusty old flintlock from the diner.

"I don't know who brought home the bacon!" Linda warbled. "But I'm gonna fry it up in a pan!"

"Grammy," Lance winced.

"Mom, put that thing away," Jane waved, one hand over her face in shame.

Keith crossed the room slowly, putting a hand over Linda's shoulder.

"You take the big one," Linda not-so-whispered to him.

"Is she having a war flashback?" one officer asked.

"She's probably just had a little too much eggnog," Jane sighed. "She's a little eccentric, ah. She used to be an actress."

"Someone's gotta protect this family!" Linda said.

"Linda," Keith held out a hand, a quiet insistence for the flintlock. With a sigh of defeat, Linda's face fell into a small, wrinkled pout. She handed it over.

Linda sniffed. "I was on broadway once." And Keith gave her shoulder a small rub.

"I know," he said and chanced a look Lance's way.

Lance held his mother's gaze with a frown that tore right through Keith. Jane folded her arms, barely sparing her son a look and bitterly muttering, "Merry Christmas" to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know how to play chess.
> 
> and i'm sorry for the delay! i really wanted to have this chapter out by christmas, but then it would've been rushed and—well, i wanted you guys to have a neatly written chapter. i almost feel bad for writing lance's parents to be like...assholes. but what parents aren't, really? in the name of love? eh...
> 
> anyways, i hope you guys had fun with this chapter, bc it was certainly a fiasco to write! let me know what you think!
> 
> [@peachgrdn](https://mobile.twitter.com/peachgrdn)  / tumblr : [peachgrdn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/peachgrdn)


	4. i take back what i said

Lance and his grandma spent the entire night in a holding cell of the city's downtown police station, awaiting bail. Lance, for the obvious, and Grammy, for her stunt with the flintlock. He swore he could hear his parents arguing about the ordeal from all the way across the station.

As he paced tirelessly in the small area of the cell, grammy exchanged pleasant conversation with a drunken party girl, who's mascara was just as much of a wreck as her hair.

"I don't get this whole fad with pointy nails," his grandma said, inspecting the girl's pink nails. "I say, keep them short and squared! French tips are much more elegant. That's how Kate Middleton wears them."

"Ya don't say," said the girl.

All Lance could do was reflect upon his evening, like a child. He desperately wanted to make sense of things. What had he been expecting, really? That Keith had truly grown fond of whatever they'd become? If it had been yesterday morning, Lance might have been feeling things differently, but now, all he felt was mortified by how secretly hopeful he'd been. He felt more embarrassed of himself than anything.

Not long after, his mother arrived with an officer, sweeping down the hall with her characteristic look of admonishment. She stopped before the cell as the officer keyed the lock and slid the gate open. Lance swallowed hard, feeling much like a prisoner being led to the electric chair without a meal.

"Kogane didn't press charges," the officer said. "You're free to go."

"Really?" Somehow, that gave Lance the tiniest bit of relief. He turned to his mom quickly, ready to explain himself, apologize. "Mom—"

"Where did I go wrong?" his mom asked, but she looked up as though she were asking the ceiling. "Was I not a good mother?"

"Mom, please, look at me."

His mom raised a hand, eyes flickering to the floor. "I just— I don't want to hear it, Lance."

And Lance knew it was clear he should shoulder the blame. His heart sank to absorb that truth. Knowing he'd done something to make her think him a failure, even when he'd told himself he was ready to bear that reality—it cut like a fresh wound. No one should ever feel it necessary to prepare to be such a disappointment.

His mom and dad did not bother escorting him out afterwards. They left with a halfhearted word of goodbye. Not a "call me later", or a "text me". Goodbye.

Left to their own devices, Lance and Granbo went to collect their belongings at the front desk in silence.

"I'm sorry you got mixed into this, too, Gram," Lance whispered as the woman behind the desk's window went to retrieve their items. He was wary to say anything that might come with another rebuking glare.

His grandma relented a sigh and grabbed her purse from the window slot. "Don't be sorry to me," she said an looked up at him. "Be sorry to yourself."

Lance frowned. He kept his head down until his grandma touched his shoulder, startling him.

"Oh, don't look so sad, rosebud," she smiled reassuringly, in a way with means to put him at ease. "You're not the only McClain who cracks under pressure. We're all only human, after all."

It was the vaguest of comforts he'd felt in a while. He was grateful for that, and for his grandma's offer to drive him back to his apartment, which he refused. What he needed was to be alone and forget this horrid holiday ever happened.

By the time Lance was leaving, it was six o'clock. The city was rumbling to life, another morning in New York, as he descended the steps of the courthouse. His eyes bruised from the cold. He zipped up his parka, stopping sharply as he caught sight of Keith standing at the base of staircase. His back was faced to Lance as he checked the time on his watch. Lance's heart sank.

What was he still doing here?

Lance cleared his throat with a small cough, eliciting Keith's attention. "Thanks for not pressing charges," he said and gave a small roll of his eyes. "Never imagined I'd ever have to say that in my life."

Keith leaned forward. "You had to know I wouldn't call the cops," he spoke urgently, a painfully pleading look in his indigo eyes. "I called my friend, he got confused, and—Lance, I'm so—"

"Stop." Lance waved a gloved hand dismissively, dropping it just as fast. "Please, Keith."

Keith fell silent. The pinch in his brow was telling enough that he had much more to say. Lance thought it was safer to stop him while he was ahead and spare them the stress of it all.

"Is everyone okay?" Keith asked after a pensive silence.

"Everyone's fine," Lance kept his eyes grounded. "I mean, they're not so happy with me right now, but...I guess I had it coming."

Keith huffed a small laugh. "Kind of a messed up situation we have, huh?"

"Just a smidge."

Keith waited for a spell, as if gathering words. "I shouldn't have called him."

"Don't say that."

"No," Keith said, and Lance looked up again.

"Why?" he asked tartly, and as Keith readied another answer, Lance summoned the courage to cut him off. "Because you feel bad for me? Because I'm such an obvious, pitiful screw up? I really don't want your pity," he gave a small, cold breath of laugh. "I have enough for myself, trust me."

"I don't pity you, Lance."

Lance fixed him with a squint. A coiled tightness remained ballooning in his chest as Keith looked back at him with such a earnest face, it winded him.

It wasn't right. Even if he and Keith wanted to be around each other, he couldn't dismiss the wrongness of their situation. It felt like another trick of his own. Like he'd tricked Keith into becoming his friend. His whatever. And wouldn't that just make him a fool again? That would make things much, much worse, Lance thought. Wanting to be with someone so badly shouldn't have felt so complicated.

"I think we should, um," Lance rubbed his eyes. They stung from his freezing tears kept at bay. "Part from here."

Keith sported a frown, a tiredness surfacing to his face. "We don't have to—"

"Take care, Keith," Lance interrupted, lidding his eyes. He pulled his parka tighter, deliberately turning his cheek. He couldn't let it appear as though it mattered now. He just wanted to leave and go home, and let himself wallow away the remainder of his holiday in bed.

A sigh fell from Keith's lips, a telltale sign of his defeat as his expression fought with itself for a precious moment. "You, too." He said after a moment's hesitation, and Lance quelled the need to cry.

Afterwards, they went their separate ways, fighting the final say hanging on both of their hearts.

 

***

 

_ January ; _

 

As the elevator crawled from floor twenty to thirty-five, Keith checked his phone and reviewed the last of his notes, glowering at the script. He knew this damn presentation to memory already. He could quote it in his sleep. He was fidgeting for nothing.

Well. Not all nothing. His head had been scrambled for the past few weeks, and for rightful reason, too. A stupid reason, was what he wanted to call it.

The elevator dinged halfway through the flight, sliding open for another passenger.

"Hey," Shiro greeted, and Keith gave a wane smile. "You ready for the presentation?" He asked as he walked in beside him, and the doors slid shut.

"Yep," Keith said, grabbing the elevator rail behind him.

"Ah, we're just lucky they rescheduled it so late," Shiro said on a laugh. "It gave us time to polish our notes over anyway. I even asked Allura for what might make Alfor more lenient, you know? But since the week's passed, she said he's sounding completely sold already. We might even get transferred, actually."

"Uh-huh."

Shiro's eyes swept in his direction. "Are you okay?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You're completely out of it," Shiro said. A beat of silence followed. "Is it Lance?"

That brought him back to reality. Keith went uneasy again. He'd never been any good at finding words to communicate his feelings. His days with Lance had met a very bad end. Just thinking about how hurt Lance had looked that final morning ferried him into a swift, exhausting feeling of anguish. There wasn't a day that went by that he hadn't kicked himself for not saying anything.

"Yeah," Keith said quietly.

"I'm sorry for, you know," Shiro turned. "If I could go back and...well, not do that, I would. You know that. Have you at least tried reaching out to him?"

"He doesn't want me to," Keith relinquished his hold on the elevator rail, folding his arms instead. "He made his feelings pretty clear."

Had he, though? At the time, Keith had genuinely thought so. Now, he wasn't so sure.

Lance had insinuated Keith's feelings were pity. But they hadn't been, he knew. If there was anything Keith was sure of, it was that he had always gone about his own life being solidly honest with himself. And the truth was, he liked Lance. He might even...

"Look, I may not be in your shoes right now, exactly," Shiro said. "But I see it. You miss him. And it's never too late to try, okay? Things can change."

After they arranged the presentation, things had gone by swiftly. Keith recited all their plans for the future of Galra's partnering with Altea mechanically, glancing out the expansive windows of the boardroom every so often, away from the focused eyes of Altea's finer representatives. Shiro had taken the lead now, something about their success in aiding Olkarion, when his mind swam back to Lance. Lance, and his dark eyelashes, and his elvish nose that turned pink at the slightest low in temperature, and how wildly cute he was, with or without curly hair. The taste of his lips, the sound of his laugh. He missed that smarmy grin, and the boy it belonged to.

Since the day he had ended their fake romance, Keith had resented himself. For reasons prior, exactly. None of what their relationship was had felt fake. It didn't feel odd or imagined; on the contrary, nothing had ever felt more real. And calling his affection for Lance a ruse had only been a convenient excuse to walk away.

"Kogane," a woman, Hira, called from the table. She looked from Shiro to Keith again.

What was he doing? He wanted Lance, more than anything. And he was tired of excuses.

"Kogane, do you know what you're doing?" Hira asked.

He was done with excuses.

"Yes," Keith said and looked up. "I do."

 

***

 

"How's the hunt for a new job going?" Pidge asked.

Lance raised a freshly finished canvas onto an easel, balancing his phone between his shoulder and ear as he wiped paint-sticky fingers with a damp cloth. He gave a glance to the final product of his scenic piece, a moment close to heart.

"Still going," he said into the receiver.

"You know, I talked with my dad, and he said you can always come back when you want to."

After all that had happened, there was no way he wanted to go back to working at the Holt's Diner again. He almost hated how forgiving Sam was, even after all he'd done. Even if he wanted to, his embarrassment was much too stifling for him to return anyway.

"It's fine," Lance tossed aside his washcloth, hitting speaker and setting his phone on the coffee table. He pulled a plate of oreos to himself and sat pretzel-style. "Sort of. I've been doing some more commissions lately anyway!"

"Yeah?"

Lance plucked an oreo from the dish, thinking twice before dunking the cookie instead of twisting it in half. He stopped smiling. "I don't know," he shook his head. "I guess I'm just trying to be realistic. I can't just wait for things to happen."

A pause ensued before Pidge spoke again. "So you haven't heard from Keith?"

"No," Lance grumbled to himself, biting into his oreo hard, as if it conveyed his anger. "See, this is what I'm talking about! I can't believe I actually thought I had feelings for a guy I kidnapped!"

And leaving their relationship be had been a noble thing to do. Before they'd both gotten hurt.

"What did I even think was gonna happen?"

Pidge gave a small sigh. "You never—"

A dial tone beeped twice in the middle of her sentence.

"Sorry, my," he grabbed his phone, eyeing his brother's name lighting up the screen for an incoming call. "My brother's calling me. I'll call you back, okay?"

Since the disaster that was their Christmas dinner, Lance could admittedly say he'd grown a little closer with his siblings. They hadn't held a grudge long after their Christmas disaster. And knowing what they were going through, too, had brought them closer together. As it turned out, he hadn't been the only one feeling like the disaster child.

He switched calls promptly after hanging up with Pidge, lifting his phone back to his ear and tossing his half-eaten oreo back onto its dish. "Hey."

"Lance, hey," Oscar's voice said. "How's it goin'?"

"I've been better," Lance shrugged as though he could be seen before returning to sort through his mail on the table. He grabbed the nearest envelope, something small and unfamiliar.

"Have you talked to mom and dad yet?" Oscar asked, and it almost annoyed Lance to hear concern in his voice.

"No," Lance said, slipping the card out of the envelope. "I've been avoiding them."

Them, their calls, anything. If one good thing had come from that, it was that avoiding his parents had stolen away the stress of constantly feeling the need to impress everyone but himself.

"I really think you should call them..." Oscar's voice trailed as Lance opened the card.

 

_" Artists of the now" - Gallery Unilu, NYC._

_ We at Gallery Unilu cordially invite you to present and premiere, January 31st... _

 

Lance nearly dropped his phone. "Oh my god, Oscar."

"I'm just saying—"

"No, no, no. I've been accepted into a show at Gallery Unilu! They want a piece from me!"

"What? Lance, that's great!" Oscar said, and Lance instantly smiled to hear the pride in his voice. "When is it?"

"This coming Saturday," Lance beamed, hugging the card to his chest. Finally, finally, finally. A wish come true. "Will you come with me? Please, please, please!"

He couldn't bear the idea of going to his first gallery show alone. Oh, man. That sounded so perfectly professionally. He liked it.

"Of course I will," Oscar said. "Are you gonna tell mom and dad?"

"No," Lance furrowed his brows. "I just—I want this to be my night, y'know?"

And his night it would be. He glanced back at the finished canvas mounted on the easel nearby, a grin breaking over his face.

And he knew exactly which piece to present.

 

***

 

The night of the art exhibit, Lance did everything to find his inner poise. Or, really, introduce himself as anyone but the disaster he'd always felt himself to be. He dressed himself primly for the occasion, exuding confident smiles in a fitted midnight-blue blazer and dress pants.

The whole night, he watched crowds of admirers stop by his painting. Every so often, someone came by and asked about the piece, what inspired him to create it, and he'd squeeze his little pink bow tie while awkwardly explaining his work.

He'd let his heart guide the brush on this one. A beautiful scenic piece of a boy dancing over a frozen pond of ice. In the distance, a blurred stranger stood by under a gazebo, watching the scene of stars and ice on earth. The wintery blue atmosphere was nearly swallowed in the beautiful yellow of a hundred, finger-smudged bulbs of light.

Lance had snatched himself a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, ogling the new crowd around his painting.

"Hey, look at you!" Oscar's voice came from behind. He gave Lance's shoulder a pat. "You look great."

Lance smiled gratefully. "You made it."

"'Course I did," Oscar said. He turned then, gesturing to a good-looking man beside him. A vague flush rose to his brother's cheeks. "Ah, this is Jonathan."

"Hi!" Lance stuck out a hand.

Jonathan gave it a shake, laughing. "Oscar's told me lots about you."

"All good things, I hope," Lance joked before looking to Oscar, and then the audience of people by his painting again. "Hey, so. I'm kinda nervous to get back into the crowd again. Could you guys do a little eavesdropping for me? See what they're saying?"

"Right," Oscar nodded. He looked to him again with something guilty, and it made Lance's stomach give. "But, um, there is one other thing."

"What?"

"Now, don't freak out, but I, uh," Oscar winced and looked over Lance's shoulder. "I may have brought a few more people with me."

_ Oh, God. _

Lance whirled around so fast, the champagne in his glass sloshed out.

In the distance, his mom, dad, and Lori stood at the other end of the gallery. As if on cue, they each gave a sheepish little wave, and Lance felt his cheeks go up in flames.

"I told you, I didn't want them here," Lance hissed to his brother. He tipped his head back and gulped what was left in his glass before robbing another one off a passing tray.

Oscar made an apologetic face, as if it could save him from the daggers Lance glared at him.

As his family approached, Lance felt as though a match had caught flame within him. "I don't have time to do this tonight. I won't do this," he snapped pointedly at his mom. "Just for  _ one _ night, I don't wanna feel like the black sheep, the weird one, the wrong one, okay?"

His mom blinked twice in succession. "Okay," she nodded. "We hear you."

Lance felt a wire short-circuit. He tilted his head. "What?"

"Your dad and I have found that keeping an open and honest line of communication is key to a healthier relationship," she said, as though she were reciting something from a self-help CD.

Lance's shoulders sagged, vacant of mind as his angry panic mounted to confusion. What language was him mom speaking, again? He looked to his sister, Lori, who gave a small smile in translation.

"They've been going to therapy," she explained. "It's...really working."

"So!" his mom's brows shot up. She fluffed her curly brown hair, eyes attentive. "What else, honey? Let it all out."

_ Oh, good. We're here now. _

Lance didn't have to think twice before letting the dam of his feelings give way. "I'm tired of trying to live up to your ideals," he frowned. "And I won't live my life to please you! Sometimes, I feel like you have no idea who I am!"

His mom tilted her head.

"I'm a slob!" Lance threw his arms, champagne splashing once again. "I mean, sometimes, if I leave a dish in the sink too long, I just throw it away instead of washing it! And I don't want a job in sales, dad. And I hate the pink sweaters you get me, mom, I hate it! I'm an artist, you guys. That's who I am. And if you try to make me choose between me or you," he heaved a stuttering sigh, squeezed of air. "I choose me."

As a smaller silence let on, a momentary spark lit up his mother's eyes, a quiet understanding. "Okay," she said again, but the smile in her voice said all that Lance needed to hear, funnily enough.

"Yes?" Lance asked, softer and in disbelief.

"Yes, of course," she grabbed his shoulders, and he thought he might collapse as she tugged him in closer.

His dad grinned behind his mustache. "Yeah," he nodded in agreement, pulling him in. "We worry about you, kiddo. We don't want you to get hurt. We want you to be safe, always. If I could, I'd keep you in a plastic bubble your whole life, but I've heard that's a little impractical."

Lance relented the quietest giggle, holding a hand to his mouth and blinking bleary eyes. He almost pinched himself, he was so confused. Happily confused.

"And we never meant to make you feel weird or wrong. Whatever you want, that's what we want for you," his dad continued. He stopped suddenly, eyes gleaming. "We love you."

And it was only in the little things like that, that Lance found his heart softening. Because no matter how tough things had become, there were still people looking out for him besides himself. He couldn't imagine coping with a life of abandonment. Even if it had been a little stifling, even if it was a royal pain in the butt, knowing his family had his back had been assuringly sweet.

"Thanks, dad," Lance smiled as his mom squeezed her arms around him and said, "We love you so much". And to think, there was a time he'd found her affection a nuisance.

Later, at the end of the evening, Lance sat on the bench before his display wall, swinging an ankle idly. Where his painting had once been mounted laid a bare wall. The tag of his name and the painting's stayed in the wake of its emptiness, emblazoned in bold lettering. It was his biggest accomplishment. And yet, there was something missing that left him in both a state of pride and irritation.

"You doing okay, sweetie?" his mom asked. She came by and took a seat next to him.

"Someone bought it," Lance said and gestured at the empty space of wall. He flashed a smile, more so out of reflex.

"Shouldn't you be happy about it?" his mom asked, reading him like a book. "What's the matter?"

Lance shifted a little, shrugging. "It just feels different than I thought it would."

"Oh? How?"

"I don't know, it's just..."

His mom perked a brow. "Is it Matt?"

"No," Lance said. "Well, maybe. I mean, it's not Matt, it's Keith. Ugh," he shook his head with a scoff, smacking a palm to his forehead. "It's stupid, is what it is."

"It is not stupid," his mom said pointedly. "If there's one thing I know, it's that silence often leads to regret."

Lance felt that deeply. He almost hated how precisely fortune cookie it sounded, but she was right. He regretted everything about his silence. Leaving Keith behind didn't lead him anywhere but in bed, watching back-to-back rom coms and throwing a box of thin mints at the tv in frustration. As if that had done anything. Anyways.

"It's never too late," his mom nudged him, smiling. "Look at your dad and me. We can muddle through anything."

Lance raised his glass. "Almost anything," he shrugged, flashing a small grin. "Almost." He said, hating the futility of hope.

It was an imploring nudge, Lance knew, but he couldn't quite give himself the satisfaction of feeding into the idea. He'd thought leaving their relationship behind was a noble thing to do. Now it just felt crazy. More than anything, he wanted an answer. What was it they'd had? Had it been just a friendly affection, or a deeper passion?

Why did she have to be so right? And at the most inopportune of times, too. It almost wasn't fair.

When all was finished for the night, Lance left Gallery Unilu toting his empty portfolio bag back to his beater of a car.

_Muddle through anything,_ he thought begrudgingly. She should get that printed on a tumbler.

He slammed the passenger door shut after throwing his art portfolio into the car. And as he made to march around the other side, a material of knit came over his eyes. A blindfold.

"Hey—!" Lance flailed.

 

***

 

And whatever prank this was, it certainly wasn't funny. Or good. Lance babbled the entire car ride, which was conveniently quick, for some reason. He was quite sure they'd just parked down the street when he listed all sorts of names: Hunk, Pidge, Matt—looking for a hint. If this was their sick version of Punk'd, he was already devising a plan of the number of ways he'd get them back. If only they weren't so silent.

"Just so you know, I have a black belt in karate," Lance lied, heartbeat rabbit quick as he was led indoors, he presumed as a bell jingled overhead. "I mean, sort of. My hands are considered lethal weapons!" If only they weren't bound in—he attempted to tug them apart—something stiff and fuzzy.

"Oooh, scary," said an all too familiar voice that made his belly go liquid hot.

"Keith?" Lance asked softly, as if afraid to break the spell of the moment. He felt his face go embarrassingly warm to say his name aloud as the feelings he'd worked to forget came bubbling up. "What's going on here?"

"Payback," Keith said, an immense amount of smirk in his voice. "It's a bitch."

"Aren't you supposed to be in Manhattan, or something?"

"Alright, how about I take that blindfold off?"

After the blindfold was lifted over his eyes, Lance gauged their surroundings. His breath caught in his throat. They were standing in Holt's Diner. Only every piece of lacquered furniture was pushed further out. The only illumination in the diner came from the soft hue of string lights that were strewn all along the trims of the walls, casting the quaint space in a syrupy glow.

"Wow," Lance whispered, a breath of a voice. After a cursory glance of the room, he trained his eyes back on Keith, who stood just a foot before him. His attire bore a close resemblance to the kind he'd worn at Christmas dinner. "What are we doing here?"

"A little bird may have let me in," Keith smirked.

_ Oh, yes. The Pidgeon. _

"Lance," Keith took his hand, and Lance quite nearly felt his heart leap up into his throat. How he missed that—all of this. "You are...unorganized."

Lance's mouth slanted into a pout. Keith had a funny way of charming a guy.

"And pushy," Keith closed his eyes. "And crazy."

"I know, and I'm trying to fix that—"

"And you talk too much."

"Okay."

"I couldn't stop thinking about you," Keith said in his quiet way, a hand stroking up Lance's wrist. "And how everything I want is right here."

"It is?" Lance asked, quietly thrilled by the touch. He pinched his lips together to quell too much of a grin. "What do you mean?"

"I've been kind of busy relocating to Altea Industries," Keith smiled. "You might've heard of it. I've been thinking of getting a place a lot closer to this guy I like."

Lance felt his heart give way.

"I was hoping I'd get to see him more often," Keith relinquished his hold from his hands, eyes soft as he approached a large sheet of fabric veiling something behind him. "And I've just acquired my first piece for the new apartment." He gave a tug to the sheet in his hands, slipping it off the canvas of— his painting.

"My..." Lance's mouth fell open. He met Keith's eyes, a hiccup on the precipice of his tongue as his heart ached with something cloyingly sweet. He hardly had words. "I don't know what to say."

Keith's mouth shaped into a perfect grin. "That's a first."

Destiny and true love was not a fixed thing. And it certainly wasn't a thing that happened when having a meltdown and stealing a random guy from his lunch. To stand where he was now felt like a dream. Lance had fallen in love in every way possible—head over heels, cow over the moon, point of no return, and in too deep. He'd walked away from that, too. And yet, here they were. Fate riddled itself out and took him back to where it all began. Or, technically, Keith did.

After a moment, Keith approached him again. "I spent my entire life striving for things I didn't even want," he said. "Because that's what I thought I was supposed to do. I thought I had something to prove... But I don't have to prove anything to anyone anymore."

"You don't?" Lance tilted his head, leaning in.

"Well," Keith's eyes fell to his mouth. He brushed his palms over Lance's cheeks, pushing his hair back and cradling his head. "Maybe one thing."

Lance's heart raced rapidly as his face was bent towards Keith's, lips catching in a slow, languid kiss. Their kiss was warm, sweet and dizzying. A month of heartache paid in full. His eyes fluttered open in wake of it, flushed cheeks soothed under the soft pressure of Keith's thumbs stroking gentle circles there. He sighed breathily, liberated by the assurance he found in being held so fondly.

Between them, Lance raised his hands, still bound in familiar furry pink handcuffs. "Now, could you maybe get these off me?" He asked breezily.

Keith pulled Lance's wrists over his head, circling them around his own neck with a smirk before wrapping his arms around Lance's waist and drawing him off his feet. They shared another kiss, two, three. A mutual agreement of desire they'd quickly lose count of. In the warmth of the diner, they let the city rage on without them.

_ There may be no such thing as a perfect job, a perfect family, or a perfect life... _

_ But there is such a thing as a perfect moment. _

_ So, I take back what I said. Doing one crazy thing can make you crazy, but...it can also make you happy. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (wags fingerguns) haha, nice.
> 
> you guys, i had SO much fun writing this. i feel like this work differs from my usual style, which is pretty good exercise. anyways, i hope you guys enjoyed reading this during the holidays as much as i enjoyed writing it! :3c
> 
> let me know what you guys think! leave a comment! ♥️ & stay tuned for future works. thank you!!
> 
> twitter : [@peachgrdn](https://mobile.twitter.com/peachgrdn)  / tumblr : [peachgrdn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/peachgrdn)


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